


Et Cetera

by Shiraume, Solmae



Category: Prince of Tennis (TV), Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguous Relationships, Did I mention dragons?, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magic as substitute for tennis, More Backstory than Main Story, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 82,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiraume/pseuds/Shiraume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solmae/pseuds/Solmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>High Gods, rulers of the Heaven,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Humans, creation most adored,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Sprites, that cross the realms between,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>And the rest...</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  


A _Prince of Tennis_ fanfiction. Alternate Universe, fantasy, drama/romance. Rated R (M) overall. Multiple pairings. 50,000+ words total.

Originally written 11/20/2004 - 7/18/2006, with ongoing revisions.

  
_For Crysi, sine qua non._   


>   
> _High Gods, rulers of the Heaven,_  
>  Humans, creation most adored,  
>  Sprites, that cross the realms between,  
>  And the rest...

  


****

PROLOGUE

Time.

Invisible, intangible. Leaving its only visible vestige in others, but itself never changed. The fourth element of the World. The one absolute force, to which all bowed.

All but the being that stood in the heart of what was once known as the Temple of Time. Time had never affected this being since its creation, long, long ago. And the being had not troubled itself with what lay outside the Temple for equally long time.

Perhaps, the being wondered, it might be worthwhile to explore the outside. There was nothing to be done in the Temple. In this place where time stood still, no change ever came. Once, the being had treasured the endless serenity of the Temple, but it had become monotonous after – however long it had been, since the being was created and placed here.

Gathering its consciousness within a tight, confined boundary was unpleasant, but having its consciousness diffused over a large area would be distracting once it left the Temple. So the being bound its existence into a small vessel, a physical container that could be seen and touched, and interact with the World. Naturally, the vessel should take the form of a common inhabitant living in the World, or it might draw unwanted attention. Yet the form should be fair to behold, and resemble one of the more highly sentient life-forms, so that the being might mingle with them easily.

When the being finished, it was now inside a rather neat package that held all its consciousness and powers within. Just then, the being felt a call from outside the Temple, and the pleasure at the success was swiftly replaced by curiosity. Before, while its consciousness was spread throughout the Temple, the being had found such calls distant and easy to disregard. But now the call felt urgent, and difficult to ignore. Besides, if it wanted to enter the World, answering this call was a good a way as any.

The vessel was made up of the same material as the Temple itself. It glowed faintly at first, as it focused its will to find the source of the call, and brighter as it gathered its consciousness around the call, and pulled. The call pulled the being along with it, retracting back to the source, back to the World. And the being followed, vanishing into the flash of bright light.

The being knew when it arrived at the destination, because now the source of the call felt physically close. Using the perception that came with the physical vessel, it examined its surroundings, and found an inhabitant of the World sprawled at its feet. The caller, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, stared at the being in silent wonder.

“Why have you called?” The being asked. The desperation of the call was what brought it here. It might as well attend to that first, before going deeper into the World.

“You...you really came,” the inhabitant whispered. The being had to strain its senses to hear the words; the physical vessel was already proving useful, but the sensory perception that came with it was but a pale shadow of what it used to have in the Temple.

“A child of the Gods, from the Temple of Time,” the caller continued, in a louder voice. “What are you called?” The inhabitant of the World now looked more focused, though still awestruck. The being tilted its head, thinking. So it needed a name to interact with the inhabitants of the World. Any name would do; after all, it did not remember what it was originally called.

“Yukimura,” it answered. “Yukimura Seiichi.”

The Human led the being back to his village. The being was curious to learn about the World, and the caller obliged the best he could. The reason for the call, when they got back to that, had been a wish. It wasn’t something Yukimura understood, but as repayment for the information, Yukimura granted the caller’s wish: to save his village from imminent destruction and win the affections of a woman. The Human obtained only the first part of it through Yukimura, since it was outside Yukimura’s power to grant the latter, but the second happened shortly after the first anyway. The Human remained relatively happy for most of his life. Throughout the Human’s life, Yukimura remained in contact with him, gaining more insight about the World and the role of Humans within it. It was with this Human Yukimura first learned the consequences of time on mortals. Yukimura watched, safely encased within its physical vessel, as the Human married the woman, produced offspring, grew old, and died.

When the Human died, Yukimura had no reason to remain there anymore. By this time, Yukimura had long since learned everything it could from the tiny village. So Yukimura left to answer another call. This time, it brought Yukimura to a Human Mage, who wanted to prevent a war that threatened his city. Yukimura thought of the first Human, and granted the wish. Yukimura remained with the Mage for the rest of his lifespan, and learned far more than it had with the first Human. When the Mage died, Yukimura answered another call. But this time, it was from a Human that wanted foolish things, wanted to destroy, so Yukimura left that one in favor of another’s call.

Over time, Yukimura found itself called by countless Human and Cetera callers (the latter almost always proved particularly informative). If a caller had wishes that would not harm others, and were within reason, Yukimura granted them, and stayed long enough to learn what it could from the caller. And so Yukimura learned about the World, but could not help sensing there was something yet missing. Something about the World – about Humans and Cetera – that it could not get its fingers on. Something important.

Yukimura did not remember why it had been in the Temple in the first place. That knowledge had either been lost in time or had never been present as long as Yukimura was aware of itself. That did not bother Yukimura much. It knew Humans and Cetera often sought purpose of their lives with what sometimes bordered on desperation in their limited lifespan. Yet, after watching many of those lives, Yukimura could not understand their preoccupation with any sort of purpose. Their purposes did not make much difference in the end.

Still, Yukimura could appreciate the nobility of some purposes, even when they turned out futile. For one, so many had done everything they could, even given their lives for the purpose, but in the end, nothing had stopped the war.

Thousands died each day, and Yukimura saw death and destruction all around. The lives that intrigued Yukimura so much were destroyed in droves for no reason that Yukimura could understand. Humans, Cetera, Sprites, animals – seeing so many lives wasted filled Yukimura with something similar to regret, or perhaps sadness, but knew it couldn’t be either of the two: emotion had never been within Yukimura’s capacity, even if reason was.

After the war, Yukimura ignored the calls, no matter how urgent, and simply roamed the World. Answering the calls was no longer necessary for learning, and besides, granting wishes was pointless. Wishes rarely changed anything in the end, and almost never worked out the way they were intended. If Yukimura chanced upon someone with a wish trivial enough, it granted the wish, because taking information without giving something back felt wrong, but never stayed long enough to see a familiar face die.

Sometimes, Yukimura thought about going back to the Temple. But the World, for all its flaws, still held more interest for Yukimura than the Temple ever had. And Yukimura could not shake the niggling feeling of missing something, and knew the answer could never be found in the unchanging silence and stillness of the Temple.

Besides, time had never been a problem for Yukimura. The World or the Temple, there was time enough for both.

Time.

****

END PROLOGUE

So...Cetera has returned. Six years after initial completion of the story, and four years after being taken down from my archives. This project has remained the biggest albatross around my neck, and I still do not feel ready, but...I do not think there will be time in the future if I don't start now.

Ironic, that. ^__~  



	2. Chapter 1

**_Et Cetera_ **

> _High Gods, rulers of the Heaven,_  
>  Humans, creation most adored,  
>  Sprites, that cross the realms between,  
>  And the rest... 

**__**

****

  
**Chapter 1**   


Someone was following him.

In fact, the same someone had followed him all the way from the foot of Crystal Forest. But no attack yet – and the Cassidna Mansion was already within shouting distance. He knew who his shadow was, which was why he allowed it as long as he had, but the wait was getting tiresome.

“Why don’t you come out?”

For a moment, there was no sound, and everything was still. Then, without a warning, a fire spell flew toward him. Without hesitation, he cast a water spell to neutralize the offensive spell, instantly extinguishing the fire. As soon as the last of fire disappeared in hissing steam, there was a physical presence right behind him, and he leaped just in time to hear the whistle of a sheathed blade rushing past his ear. He whirled, facing his opponent, who charged at him that very moment. Calmly, he brought out his own Ralt to block the attack, stopping his attacker short. Although he held advantage in terms of height and weight, his opponent was faster than anyone he knew. So he continued on the defensive, waiting for an opening instead of attacking. Just when his opponent lunged too far, he switched to offense, and in an instant, his opponent was sprawled at his foot, Ralt knocked out of his hand. He pointed the Ralt at his opponent, who scowled up at him.

“My win,” he said quietly, and his opponent looked petulant.

“Che. Sharp as always,” his opponent said, pulling himself to his feet. “When did you notice I was following you?”

“You started following me at the Crystal Forest,” Tezuka stated. The scowl deepened, but no verbal response was forthcoming. Instead, the boy retrieved his weapon and started to walk toward the mansion. Knowing the boy’s mentor was likely waiting inside, he followed, replacing the Ralt in his belt. After passing the herb garden, the two of them came to the double doors of the mansion, which the boy pushed open.

“How nice to see you, Tezuka,” a voice drifted out, and Tezuka saw his host standing at the foot of the staircase, smiling. Tezuka gave him a slight nod in acknowledgment.

“Fuji.”

Fuji smiled at him serenely, walking towards him to grasp his hand familiarly. “It’s been a while. Why don’t you come in?”

Tezuka took in Fuji’s traveling clothes, and belatedly, Echizen’s, and gave Fuji an inquiring look. “Bad time?”

“We were about to leave,” Fuji said, “for the Northern Vales.”

“I see. I wasn’t planning to stay for a proper visit,” Tezuka reassured him. “I heard Echizen passed Apprentice-level entrance exam with top scores. Congratulations.”

Ryoma snorted, and Fuji gave him a brief look before turning his attention back to Tezuka. “Thank you,” Fuji replied graciously. “I’m thinking of crafting a Ralt for Echizen,” Fuji said in the way of explanation, and Tezuka nodded in understanding.

“You’re looking for a stone that would complement his Magic,” Tezuka said. Fuji nodded. “You could easily order any stone from Heda’s shops without having to go looking for them in the Northern Vales.”

“Lake Genetra,” Ryoma corrected, sounding bored.

Tezuka frowned. Lake Genetra, one of the largest lakes in the surrounding parts of the world, lay beyond the Northern Vales, and Cetera rarely traveled that far north. He noted Fuji giving a censuring look to Ryoma, but did not comment. “Why that far?”

Fuji gave him a smile, one that veiled his thoughts, and replied casually. “I’ve been to those regions before. One can find interesting things there.”

Looking at the concealing smile Fuji wore, he nodded in acquiescence; pressing Fuji now would get him nowhere. And he didn’t have the time, just yet. “Will you require someone to watch the mansion while you’re gone?”

“No, my protective weaves will hold.” Fuji’s smile nevertheless softened. “Did you come all the way here to congratulate Echizen, or are you visiting Morgiana?”

“Both,” Tezuka admitted. “Morgiana might be able to help.”

“Or her extensive library might,” Fuji observed. “Another dead end in your research?”

Tezuka nodded. “I’ve exhausted Heda’s libraries and my own. Morgiana’s collection might have something I missed.”

“Good luck, then.” Fuji’s eyes sparkled. “The Council must have been lenient lately, if you’ve taken to visiting Hessedi so often.”

Tezuka raised an eyebrow. “Hardly.” _They are just waiting for a better opportunity to spring a trap_ remained unspoken. Ryoma made an impatient noise, and Fuji’s lips twitched briefly.

“I think we’d better start. How long will you be staying this time, Tezuka?”

“A week, possibly more.”

“Ah, then, perhaps we will see you before you leave,” Fuji said, and Tezuka looked at him, puzzled. The journey to and from Lake Genetra could not possibly take less than ten days on foot. Fuji merely gave him a mysterious smile. “Until later.”

“Ah.”

Fuji gave him a nod, and walked out, with Echizen in tow. Echizen gave him a nod before the door closed behind them. Minutes later, Tezuka also headed outside, and resumed his walk towards Morgiana’s lair.

**********

Ryoma, as soon as they were out of sight from Cassidna, turned to Fuji. “You don’t trust him.”

“What are you talking about?” Fuji’s voice was pleasant and bland.

“You don’t trust Tezuka,” Ryoma insisted. “And you don’t trust me,” he added more quietly. “Or anyone at all.”

“It has less to do with trust,” Fuji said evenly, “and more to do with caution.” Ryoma gave him a skeptical look, which he dismissed. “You will understand when you are older.” Ryoma’s expression shifted to a put-upon look, but the boy did not comment. “Shall we?”

Ryoma took Fuji’s proffered hand, and in a flash of light, they disappeared. When the light faded, Ryoma opened his eyes and looked around, taking in his new surroundings. No matter how many times he saw it, Fuji’s power never ceased to amaze him. They were on the other side of the Northern Vales, right on the edge of Lake Genetra – a distance that would have taken them at least three days on horseback.

“Now, let’s get that boat and get going, shall we?” Ryoma blinked, drawn back to here and now. Fuji was already ahead of him, and he had to trot to catch up with his mentor. Ten minutes later, they sat in a small rowboat crossing the vast lake. Assisted by Fuji’s power over the waters, the boat glided soundlessly over the water. Ryoma stuck his hand in the water, creating wavelets as the boat sailed on, but hastily withdrew it.

“The water’s icy,” Ryoma said, drying his hand on his traveling cloak and rubbing it to restore warmth.

“That would be why Castor lives here, yes,” Fuji answered, watching Ryoma use Magic to warm his hand faster. “You shouldn’t use your Magic so casually.”

“Why not?”

“Magic has its consequences,” came the cryptic reply, and Ryoma scowled for a moment, settling more comfortably in the boat. He spent the next ten minutes ignoring Fuji, until he fell asleep, curled up in the uncomfortably small boat.

When Ryoma was shaken awake, he was looking up at a pair of large gleaming eyes watching him in amusement.

“Hi, Castor.”

Castor moved his face away, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. “As sleepy as ever, I see.” The Ice-Dragon stretched, the shimmering scales stirring and settling as he moved. “I can guess what brings you here,” Castor’s voice rumbled. “If nothing in my layer suits your purpose, Pia Mountains will have what you seek. Go take a look in my lair, if you wish, little one.” Ryoma gave the Dragon a look for the epithet, but nodded and moved past the Dragon’s coiled body into the cave. Castor’s lair was one of Ryoma’s favorite playgrounds, and each visit yielded something new yet again. It was one of the reasons Ryoma always looked forward to visiting Castor. Without hesitation, Ryoma walked deeper into the tunnels of the dimly-lit cave.

**********

When Ryoma was out of sight, Castor turned back to Fuji. “A few things warrant attention, yours and mine.”

“I figured as much, when you called me,” Fuji murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“The northernmost peak of Pia Mountains,” Castor replied. “Pia Mountains have been silent for a long time. But no more. The northernmost peak is stirring.”

“There is an unusual amount of Magic concentrated around that peak,” Fuji observed thoughtfully. “That’s why you made your lair here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I thought to keep a close watch on it from this place. You know that Lake Genetra’s water is well below freezing temperature.”

“Yet it never freezes,” Fuji finished. “But it wasn’t always so, you said.”

“No,” Castor said slowly. “When I was but a fledgling, I heard that Genetra was like any other lake in the years before War of Adamant. Its waters warmed during the summer, its surface frozen during the winter.”

“Then, War of Adamant changed it?” Fuji asked curiously.

“Not quite. During the years of the War, Lake Genetra was still unchanged. But shortly after the the end, the Lake turned colder than ice, yet never froze again.”

“Not the War itself,” Fuji concluded. “Then, what happened afterward that changed Lake Genetra?”

“I do not know. My kindred, had they lived, might have. During the War, many of the Dragon-kinds were hunted indiscriminately, but most of all, the Ice-Dragons. I fear, child, that I am most likely the last of my kind.”

Fuji stroked the scales between Castor’s eyes until the Dragon let out a pleased purr. Five hundred years ago, when he awoke without any recollection of who he was, it was Castor who found him and protected him, had taught him and guided him until he could fend for himself. In many ways, the Ice-Dragon was a parent to him, and it saddened him that Castor might be doomed to solitude until the end of his long life. With Castor Fuji had traveled across the lands, far beyond what any Human or Cetera had ever done, but had never come across another Ice-Dragon.

“I will go to the northernmost peak,” Fuji said finally. “Will you take care of my charge while I am gone?”

Castor laughed. “I doubt your young charge will consent to be left behind.” The Dragon cast a shrewd look on Fuji. “You’ve trained the little one well. Why don’t you take him with you?”

“It’s not that I doubt his ability,” Fuji replied uncomfortably. Castor’s great head nudged him, and he resumed stroking the silvery scales.

“You worry for the little one,” Castor said gently. “And you have a hard time trusting anyone, even the child you reared with your own hands for the past decade.” After a long moment of silence, Castor spoke again, his voice tinged with sorrow. “We Ice-Dragons are wary beings. We trust very few, and almost never an outsider; so distant are we, that others say we have the heart of ice. But when we give our trust, we trust with all our heart.” The tip of Castor’s leathery wing tenderly brushed against Fuji, and Fuji leaned on Castor’s neck and closed his eyes. He knew that he was the only soul Castor trusted in his long years, with both his lair and his heart. In many ways, he was the young Castor would never have. “Syuusuke, if you keep your heart frozen shut from the rest of the world, perhaps you will be safe, but nothing will ever change.” Castor chuckled, the low rumble reverberating in the cave. “This, coming from an Ice-Dragon may sound strange, but even we must give our heart to someone eventually. If no one else, to our young. That little one is yours, child, if you would have him.”

“And I am yours,” Fuji answered tightly. There was no other being in the world that he trusted as Castor. Castor’s wing rustled, then wrapped around him like a huge blanket.

“Yes, you are,” Castor answered, affection clear in his voice. “I am old, Syuusuke. I will not be with you forever.” Castor’s voice became lower. “I would see you happy before I leave you.”

“How long...” Fuji’s voice faltered. “How long before I must leave him? You were the one who found me, and I was already then exactly as I am now. Five hundred years have I been in this world, unchanging, and I do not yet know my own lifespan. No Cetera or Human would have remained so utterly unchanged for so long.” Castor was silent, and Fuji, after a moment, continued. “For Echizen’s sake, it will be easiest if I were to disappear in the next century or so. I've already spent three centuries as one of the Cetera. Too long will become troublesome.”

“You’re not one of the Cetera,” Castor said quietly. “At least, not completely. You are—”

Ryoma, coming back from the depths of the cave, stopped short just out of sight, startled by the stark bitterness in Fuji’s voice.

“—A cursed, endless, changeless existence. The Council would need no more excuse to eliminate me if they knew. If they even could.”

Castor was silent, and Fuji looked down, knowing he’d caused Castor pain. “Forgive me,” Fuji said after a moment of tense silence.

Castor shook his immense head. “It is a pain I know well. But the last half-millennium I spent with you, I have not misspent. Did the little one not fill your last decade with happiness?”

Fuji did not answer for a long moment, and Ryoma scuffled his feet hastily, making his presence known before walking up to them. He didn’t know what answer Fuji might have given, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” Castor commented as Ryoma came closer. “Does my lair hold nothing that interests you, little one?”

“It’s not about interest. We came to look for something specific, didn’t we?” Ryoma asked instead. Fuji’s smile was more distant than usual, and Ryoma didn’t like it when Fuji felt so far away.

“Didn’t find what you were looking for, then?” Fuji asked, and Ryoma imagined Fuji’s voice was coming from miles away, echoing faintly through the cave.

“No.”

“We will visit the mountains tomorrow, then,” Fuji said amiably. “You should be able to feel it when we’re close.”

Castor gave an approving nod, and Ryoma, wondering what he had missed, stared at Castor quizzically, but the Dragon merely winked at him. Ryoma shrugged, heading outside. The sun was already set, and stars twinkled to life in the sky. Soon, the heaven was so full that not another star could squeeze in, and Ryoma chose a spot near the lake to lie on his back. A sudden memory of his mother telling him the legends behind the constellations made him hastily turn to his side. He stared at the calm surface of the lake instead, where cool breeze fractured the reflection of the stars in countless wavelets. Half an hour later, he was fast asleep.

Fuji made sure Ryoma was asleep before levitating him onto a thick blanket, and placing a warm cloak over him, tugging it up to his chin. It was something he got into the habit of doing during the past ten years of living under the same roof with his Pupil. He always felt uncomfortable doing this while Ryoma was awake, regardless of how many times he repeated it. The gesture felt familiar nonetheless, and sometimes, he could almost remember a gentle hand tucking him in a warm comforter, but the almost-there memory always disappeared before he could put a finger on it. Most of his memories were just blank, and try as he might, he couldn’t recall anything from his past before Castor found him. Any conscious attempts to recover the memories of his family caused migraines strong enough to knock him out for days, and eventually he’d stopped trying to recall them.

Absently Fuji put a warming spell around Ryoma, so he would stay warm even if he kicked off the cloak during the night. Lastly, a weave for protection, and another spell to alert him of any changes in his student, and Fuji headed back to the cave, settling down under Castor’s immense wing for the night as he always did when he visited Castor. The shelter of Castor’s wing was soothing and familiar, and Fuji was asleep a great deal faster than usual.

**********

Someone was screaming.

_So cold..._

It hurt. It was an agony, maelstrom of power tearing him apart, and it was still not enough –

“Syuusuke!”

_No, Yuu --_

“Child, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”

Fuji’s eyes were wide but unseeing, breath coming in harsh pants. He was sitting, although he could not remember getting up, drenched in cold sweat.

“Here, drink.” The water skin was nudged to his side, and Fuji reached for it blindly, uncorking it and drinking the cool water. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and Castor’s worried eyes swam into his view.

“Castor.”

“Another nightmare?” Castor asked gently. Fuji nodded. “Have they been coming frequently?”

Fuji shook his head. “Not recently.” Castor’s wing brushed against him, and Fuji closed his eyes, pressing a hand over his face. The cool scale on his back calmed him, and he leaned back, taking comfort in Castor’s presence. The next moment, the alarm of his spell went off seconds before Ryoma cried out, and Fuji was on his feet, dashing out of the cave to where Ryoma was. Ryoma cried out again, thrashing, and Fuji ran to him, sinking to his knees next to him.

“Echizen!”

Ryoma did not quite scream, but his cry was a call, one Fuji recognized. Without thinking, Fuji reached out to grasp the flailing hand, his other hand over Ryoma’s forehead for a calming spell.

“Echizen, it’s only a dream,” Fuji said quietly, as the calming spell started to take effect. “It’s all right.” His voice became softer, gentler. “You’re safe. Hush.” Ryoma gradually calmed under his hands, and his breathing evened. Fuji hummed softly, stroking Ryoma’s hair until his breathing became the regular rhythm of deep sleep. The humming formed a song he did not recognize, but it was familiar, and he laid his head near Ryoma’s, his fingers moving lazily through the soft hair. Fuji did not notice Castor watching them from the darkness of the cave, expression thoughtful and warm.

**********

The next day, their trip to the northernmost peak of Pia Mountains was mostly in silence. It wasn’t a cold or uncomfortable one, but a thoughtful kind, and Fuji, distracted by his thoughts, did not immediately notice the quiet growing around them. Just when he was about to stop Ryoma, Ryoma’s head came up, and he trotted down the path towards the rocky face of a cliff.

“Echizen --” Fuji cut himself short when he felt rather than saw a shadow move, and the Ralt was in his hand before he began running towards Ryoma. The shadow pounced, and to his relief and pride, Ryoma did not need a warning to jump out of the way, Ralt at the ready. Fuji did not waste time calling out, charging ahead to the dark mass that moved too quickly for eyes to grasp. He veered to his left at the last minute, trusting his instinct to guide him, and felt his Ralt connect hard. Without sparing a glance, he regained his footing, preparing for another lunge. The shadow faltered, landing few feet away, and Fuji heard Ryoma take in a sharp breath. The mass of shadow -- there was no other way to describe it -- was not any shape they could recognize. It looked like a cross between a cat and a bear, and the shape constantly blurred as the light shifted around it.

“Vanuk,” Fuji murmured to himself, disbelieving. In a fluid motion, he unsheathed his Ralt and lunged forward. He heard Ryoma cry out in warning as the Vanuk evaded the blade and feinted to his right, and cast a defensive spell without looking, following with the sheath of his Ralt. The moment he felt the sheath connect, Fuji spun and pushed to his right, feeling the bared blade of the Ralt sinking into the Vanuk’s body, and pushed with all of his weight. The Vanuk gave an indistinct kind of shiver that might have been a scream before it slammed into the rocky surface of the cliff. It twitched a few times, then slowly melted away to nothing. Fuji let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He hadn’t been sure if the Ralt’s magic-enhanced blade would be effective against the Vanuk.

“You’re bleeding,” Ryoma’s voice came from behind him, hushed. Fuji looked down at his left arm, and blinked to realize his forearm was indeed bleeding. He let go of the hilt, leaving his Ralt embedded halfway in the rock, and examined the wound. With a wave of his hand, he stopped Ryoma from casting a healing spell.

“Healing spells won’t work.” Ryoma frowned. “That thing was a Vanuk,” Fuji explained, “although I have never seen one before. There are only folk tales and sparse written records remaining about Vanuk. I don’t think even Castor has seen one in the flesh.” It suddenly chilled him, to realize this thing had been roaming so close to Castor’s lair. How was it that Castor had never seen it?

“Fuji...” Ryoma’s voice was quiet. In the next instant, he felt another movement heading towards them, and pushed Ryoma away, his hand grasping the Ralt by the blade. The blade did not cut him as he pulled it out with a grunt, slamming the Ralt hilt-first into the oncoming Vanuk and sending it stumbling back. With the same motion Fuji flipped the Ralt to grasp it by the hilt. The quick headcount told him there were at least half a dozen Vanuk surrounding them, and Fuji cursed quietly. How had Castor missed them?

One of them lunged towards Ryoma, and he barely had time to call out before Ryoma summoned Fire. “No, don’t use --” Before he finished his sentence, the spell slammed into the oncoming Vanuk, which stopped short and landed on the ground. “Echizen, duck!” Seconds after his warning, the Vanuk shot a black flame speeding towards Ryoma. Ryoma rolling to his feet was the last thing he saw before he jumped up, evading another Vanuk that took advantage of Fuji’s momentary distraction to charge. Fuji maneuvered so that he was getting closer to where he had last seen Ryoma, evading the Vanuks and slashing at any that got too close. When Ryoma was finally within his line of sight again, he almost laughed; Ryoma was using the sheath in his right hand with equal facility as the unsheathed Ralt in his left. Ryoma had always been a quick study.

Assured his Pupil could hold his own, Fuji concentrated on the Vanuks charging at him left and right, drawing from the reserve of power inside him. Instead of focusing on a spell, he focused on an image of a shield, surrounding him, surrounding Ryoma, and relaxed his restraint on his power. He knew it was successful when one of the Vanuks lunging towards Ryoma was suddenly thrown back. Fuji walked towards Ryoma, glancing at another Vanuk that charged and was thrown back violently.

“...How did you do that?” Ryoma demanded when they were an arm’s length away from each other. Fuji shrugged and turned his attention back to the Vanuks. He frowned thoughtfully when he realized something: all of the Vanuks had moved to form a loose semicircle with the cliff behind them, almost as if...

Almost as if protecting something.

A shift in his focus and his thought, and the Vanuks were pushed back, with increasing force until they were up against the rock. “Stay here,” Fuji warned, before charging forward, releasing the Vanuks at the last moment, just before his blade sank into them. Three of them evaded his first charge, but few moments later, fell under the blade.

“Fuji!”

He did not have time to turn as the last Vanuk slammed into him, the dark mouth closed on his right shoulder, knocking him down. His blade was instantly at the Vanuk’s throat, but the Vanuk had already sunk its teeth into his skin. Few moments later, after the Vanuk disappeared, Fuji sat up, wincing a little. There was no sign of any more Vanuk as far as he could tell, but nevertheless, he cast a small, defensive shield around them, gesturing for Ryoma to come closer.

“Are you all right?” Ryoma asked, and sensing a genuine worry in the flat tone, Fuji managed a smile and a nod. The wounds hurt, but he knew his body would heal. It always did. Ryoma bit his lip, examining the wounds. “You said healing spells won’t work on these.” Ryoma sounded almost like a child that he should have been, and without thinking, Fuji laid his left hand on Ryoma’s head, stroking the hair back.

“I’ll be all right. What caught your attention before?”

Ryoma gave him a long look, before crouching down to pick up something. It was a stone, clear golden, bearing a close resemblance to...

“Tiger’s eye,” Fuji said and chuckled, then swayed on his feet. A combination of blood loss and adrenaline drop, he guessed. Gathering Ryoma to him, he willed them back to Castor’s lair, sensing himself grow fainter. The last thing he remembered was the gravel under his feet coming closer.

**********

“Fuji!” Ryoma cried, close to panicking. It was only when Castor’s great head nudged him aside that he realized he had been shaking Fuji none-too-gently. He relaxed his grip on Fuji’s clothes, moving aside to make room for Castor. Castor’s eyes, pale ice-blue that seemed even paler under the sunlight, narrowed.

“What happened?”

“Vanuk,” was the first thing that slipped out of his mouth, but Castor seemed to understand.

“I didn’t know any of those had survived to this age,” Castor muttered darkly. “Put him on my back, and get on, little one. Use levitating spell,” Castor reminded him, and Ryoma nearly blushed. He’d forgotten he could do that with Magic. “I will take you to Cassidna. Stay with him until I return.”

Something occurred Ryoma, cutting through the haze of shock. “Tezuka might be there.”

“Tezuka?”

“My guardian,” Ryoma clarified.

“I remember; Fuji told me.” Castor cast a sharp glance over the lake shimmering under the sun. “Can Tezuka be trusted?”

“...Fuji doesn’t trust him. Not...completely.” By that, Ryoma meant Fuji didn’t trust Tezuka with Castor. It was the most accurate assessment he could give.

“And would you trust him?”

Ryoma considered for a moment. “Yes,” he decided.

“Then so will I.” Castor’s pale eyes focused on Ryoma’s, and Ryoma suddenly felt very young. Castor’s expression softened, nodding his head. “Get on, little one.”

Ryoma obeyed.

In the meanwhile, in the northernmost peak in the Pia Mountains, a section of the rocky cliff wavered like the summer haze, color bleeding away from the spot Fuji’s Ralt had pierced. After a little while, a large chunk of rock at the base of the cliff melted away, leaving behind a gaping mouth of a cave, stretching into the darkness below.

  


**END OF CHAPTER 1**  



	3. Ripples, 01. Yanagi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _Prince of Tennis_ fanfiction. Fantasy AU, drama/romance. Rated R (M) overall. Multiple pairings. 50,000+ words total. Originally written 11/20/2004 - 7/18/2006, with ongoing revisions.
> 
> This part belongs to one of the backstory sub-arc, _**Ripples**_ , and takes place a few centuries before the events in the main story. Please be advised that there is a **mention of major character death** in this part.

_For Crysi, sine qua non._

**_Et Cetera: Ripples_ **

**1\. Yanagi Renji**

_by Shiraume_

Yanagi sometimes wondered what had made Inui Sadaharu so pessimistic, so detached, even as a child. It was true many things set Inui apart: his birth, his upbringing, his choice of academic discipline. Inui's family was old and wealthy, and very well-respected, yet had chosen to live among the Humans rather than in Heda with the rest of the Cetera elites. So Inui was born and raised in the Human world unlike Yanagi and the rest of their elite peers. All Cetera were expected to keep open communication with other Cetera, and visit Heda several times a year, if not more, for that very reason. Inui had few friends and rarely voiced his inner thoughts and feelings even to them, and he scarcely visited Heda once a year.

Yanagi, like all other Cetera children, had accepted the ancient maxim that the Gods created Cetera to help all living things, that Cetera represented the Gods' love and mercy for the World. The idea had been so deeply rooted in the heart of Cetera culture, so often repeated that no one ever thought to question it. Inui, for his part, evinced little interest in anything outside his own studies.

Inui’s indifference to Cetera's divine purpose had surprised Yanagi time to time growing up. In fact, for the longest time, Yanagi was convinced the only thing Inui cared about in his life was his research. But the love for research and learning was what bound the two of them closer than anyone else. And he’d naively believed it was a bond that would last all their life. Unfortunately for both of them, reality interfered before they even reached majority.

Near the time the two of them were to take the Mage certification exam, Heda was in a state of great political unrest. His parents, deciding further contact with the increasingly ostracized Inui family was unwise, forbade him from associating with the Inui heir. Not permanently, his parents explained to him; if they waited, once the tumults died down, and the Council was no longer on the edge and keen to root out _undesirable elements_ , everything would be all right. Until then, Inui family would have blessing from no one, least of all the Council, and associating with their only son would jeopardize Yanagi's own future. True to their prediction, Inui Sadaharu was denied a place in the Academy, and thus any hopes of attaining the status of an Archmage. It was the last straw. If there had been any doubt the Inui family, once so respected among even the scholars, had been disgraced, this cemented it. Rather than waiting for a chance to reapply, Inui sought instead a contract with Human cities. That much, Yanagi could understand and even sympathize with; to Inui, the top research student in all of Heda, such attack on his pride wouldn't have allowed him to stay, or stoop to reapply.

However, even now Yanagi couldn't understand why Inui accepted the contract with Pyris of all places. Pyris had unusually rapid turnover rate of Mages due to frequent conflicts. If Inui wanted to work in the Human world, there were other, safer places.

One cold, starry night, several centuries ago, the two of them had been looking at the constellations from the roof of Fuji's new home in Hessedi. The sky of Hessedi was midnight black, not the variation of blue and violet seen from Heda. The stars should have been farther away in Hessedi; after all, Heda was in the sky, closest to the heavens. But that night in Hessedi, Yanagi felt the stars closer than ever.

"Do you think the stars remember how the World began?" Yanagi had asked, though he could't remember what had brought on the question.

"Why would they want to?" Inui returned.

"The Gods kindled the stars in heaven," Yanagi began.

"...To light the way for the children of the World," Inui finished. Any Cetera child could recite the story of creation by heart. "Did they ask to?"

"What?" Yanagi turned to look at Inui. Inui's eyes were fixed on the distant stars, and did not look at him.

"The stars did not ask to be created, or given purpose," Inui explained. _Neither did we._

"All living things need a purpose," Yanagi argued. Inui snorted.

"Animals live just fine without a purpose. At least, without any other purpose than to live and procreate. It's the Humans and Cetera that search for it," Inui paused, closing his eyes. "Or rather, Humans do. Cetera don't even bother with that much."

"Ours is to help all life, to serve this World."

"Is that what we do?"

Struck by the strange tone, Yanagi remained silent.

"Was our brand of help ever asked for? We Cetera cling to the idea of helping others, because otherwise our existence oppresses us," Inui said at last, turning to study Yanagi's face. "Our long existence laden with equally long memories."

"Others see our long life as a blessing from the Gods," Yanagi pointed out, and saw Inui's lips twitch briefly. Inui reached out with a hand to touch Yanagi's cheek. The frank tenderness in Inui's face took him by surprise, but to his disappointment, Inui's gentle expression soon waned to one of mixed bitterness and distant longing.

"It is our curse to drown in our memories, because we spend so much time of our long lives merely lost in pleasant dreams."

Yanagi did not remember what he had wanted to say to that, because Inui kissed him then. It was a gentle and bittersweet kiss, one that awakened a sense of faint longing in him, though for what he couldn't tell. Neither spoke again until Fuji came up to invite them inside. The next day, Yanagi returned to Heda, and Inui to Pyris, and they never spoke of that night again.

A year later, in the City of Pyris, Inui Sadaharu was killed by the Humans on whose behalf he'd been negotiating peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **( Notes on Cetera Universe: The People )**
> 
> The world of Cetera has three major kinds of intelligent beings: Humans, Sprites, and Cetera. (Animals are not considered to possess a comparable level of intelligence.) Humans are much like us, with a lifespan under a hundred years, and are the most numerous in the World. Humans possess no Magic, with only rare exceptions (the Human Mages). Sprites range from little winged fairies and Magical creatures to Unicorns, Dragons, and Elementals, and can have a vast range of appearances, characteristics, and lifespan. All Sprites possess Magic, though their Magic tends to be extremely varied and wildly different from that of Humans or Cetera.
> 
> The Cetera are indistinguishable from Humans in appearance, but have strong Magic, with lifespan of 1,500 years. Although the Cetera have a capital city in a flying landmass called Heda, only the wealthy elites have permanent residence in the capital itself. The rest, who reside in the Human world (often with contracts with cities and potentates), nonetheless pay visits to Heda often. Heda is also the seat of the High Council, which governs all Cetera. Because the Cetera possess powerful Magic, every Cetera must be thoroughly trained from early age, and even certified Mages are subject to strict rules and regulations regarding their usage of Magic. Misuse of Magic can result in severe consequences. For Cetera, intermarriage with other kinds (such as Humans or Sprites) is strictly forbidden, as a child from such a union is considered a serious misuse of Magic.
> 
> Dragons are considered Sprites by the Cetera standard but not their own. Like other extremely intelligent species of Sprites, Dragons disdain Cetera classifications and prefer to consider themselves their own people. Although Dragons, Unicorns, and Elementals are known for their extremely long life, their true lifespan is actually unknown, as there is no recorded instance of a natural death for any of them.


	4. Ripples, 02. Fuji & Tezuka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _Prince of Tennis_ fanfiction. Fantasy AU, drama/romance. Rated R (M) overall. Multiple pairings. 50,000+ words total. Originally written 11/20/2004 - 7/18/2006, with ongoing revisions.
> 
> This part belongs to one of the backstory sub-arc, _**Ripples**_ , and takes place 10 years before the events in the main story.

  
_**Et Cetera: Ripples**_ by _Shiraume_  


**02\. Fuji & Tezuka**

[Posted 4/18/2013]

"How unusual for you, to drop by without prior notice," Fuji said as he poured tea for his guest. "Visiting Morgiana?"

"No," Tezuka answered curtly, skipping the pleasantries in favor of business at hand. "I assume you know about the war between Ketys and Brinwold?"

"For the control of Pyris? Yes."

"I understand your priority is Moltania, but this is important. Can you go to Pyris?" Tezuka asked, not bothering with the expected courtesies. He never had the patience for the Cetera custom of phrasing requests in a ceremoniously roundabout way. Besides, with Fuji, direct approach worked better. Unless Fuji was in a mood to be difficult, in which case all bets were off anyway.

Fuji waved a hand absently. "I have no formal contract with Moltania, or any other city. And Moltania is not under a threat of war." Fuji paused for a moment, wondering whether he should ask for more information. If asked, Tezuka would be truthful about anything he felt Fuji should know. "Is there a reason why you're asking? I received no summons from the Council."

"The Council decided not to intervene," Tezuka said flatly. "Kingdom of Ketys is an important ally to Cetera."

"And currently accounts for one-fifth of Heda's yearly revenue," Fuji observed, mild voice belying the biting truth of his observation. Noting the faint crease between Tezuka's brows, Fuji let it go, and waited for Tezuka to continue.

"A formal legation from Cetera now would make the situation even more uncomfortable, since neither Ketys nor Brinwold is willing to be the first to end the stalemate. Meanwhile, the destruction at Pyris is spreading to the nearby villages. As you know, Pyris had a contract with a Cetera Mage, but -- "

"'Had'?" Fuji cut him.

"The Council formally pronounced the Mage deceased. His Book returned to Aeterna yesterday," Tezuka answered. Fuji's calm expression betrayed nothing, but Tezuka thought he felt something coiling inside Fuji, like a snake getting ready to strike.

"So you're sending me to take his place?" Fuji asked neutrally, and Tezuka shook his head.

"No, I'm asking you to go to Pyris and do what you can to contain further damage. Until Pyris successfully forms a contract with another Mage, there is no one to help the city or the neighboring villages."

Fuji was silent for a long time. Finally, Fuji turned to look at him directly, meeting his eyes. "Does this represent the wishes of the Council?"

"No," Tezuka answered simply.

"I see," Fuji's voice was level. After a moment, Fuji's expression relaxed into his usual smile. "I'll leave for Pyris first thing tomorrow. Are you planning to stay for a few days?"

Tezuka shook his head. "I'm returning to Heda after this."

Fuji nodded. "I'll do my best, then."

"Thank you," Tezuka said quietly.

"Don't mention it," Fuji replied, pouring more tea into his own cup. "How are things in Heda?"

"The usual," Tezuka said tersely, and Fuji did not press. Fuji knew Tezuka must have staunchly opposed the Council's decision to abandon Pyris to her fate just so Cetera could stay on good terms with both Ketys and Brinwold. Instead, Fuji gave him a smile, one warmer and gentler than usual.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Will you be cooking?" Tezuka asked with an almost imperceptible raise of an eyebrow.

"Do you want to help?" Fuji countered, smile widening a notch. "Or are you implying there is something objectionable about my cooking?" Fuji needled, watching the hints of tension seep away from Tezuka's shoulders.

"I implied nothing of the sort," Tezuka replied with a straight face, and Fuji hid a laugh. Tezuka always needled back, just more subtly. Tezuka and Yanagi both understood and played the game just as well as he did, even if Tezuka pretended he didn't play. It was nice to have people like them as friends. His days were certainly more entertaining.

The two of them prepared dinner together, and Fuji managed to persuade Tezuka to stay for a little longer before returning to Heda. When Tezuka took his leave, Fuji noted with a certain amount of pride that Tezuka definitely looked less edgy than when he first arrived, though most people would not have noted the change. It pleased him to know he could affect Tezuka that way. Of course, he also knew quite well how to prod and tease Tezuka to distraction, but he could do that any time. And tomorrow...

Tomorrow was another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **( More Cetera-verse notes. )** Morgiana is a Wind-Dragon, and has been Tezuka's friend since his childhood. Oishi, a long-time friend of Fuji's, lives in the City of Moltania, which is why Fuji likes keeping an eye on it.
> 
> Mage is a formal title, granted to Cetera who completed training under an accredited mentor and passed certification examination. Mages can apply for the honorary title of Archmage, but only top 5 to 10 percent ever attain it. Each Cetera child starts as Novice-Mage and passes through Apprentice-Mage level before he can attempt the Mage certification. Each level is differentiated by the color of the trim on the robe: gold for Archmage, silver for Mage, burgundy for Apprentice-Mage, and purple for Novice-Mage. Standard Cetera business attire is a full-length black robe with embroidered trim. Cetera priests (who tend the temples) wear simple white tunics.
> 
> The Book is a magical item particular to Cetera Mages. It emerges from Lake Aeterna in Heda when a Cetera is born, accompanies him throughout life, and returns to Aeterna when he dies. It's one of the ways for Cetera to keep track of their numbers. Each Book is unique, but can take any form when inactive. When awakened, the Book takes the shape of a sizable hardcover tome, but its true size and design differ widely from one Cetera to another. It is not exactly a sentient being, but can keep records of the spells a Mage performs using the Book, and acts as sort of a personal Magical encyclopedia.


	5. Ripples, 03. Yanagi, Sanada, Yukimura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part belongs to one of the backstory sub-arc, Ripples, and takes place 10 years before the events in the main story.

  
**_Et Cetera: Ripples_** by _Shiraume_  


**03\. Yanagi, Sanada, and Yukimura**

_Heda, three days after Tezuka's visit to Fuji._

"More tea?" Yanagi asked. Sanada shook his head.

"No, thank you." Sanada was quiet for a long moment. "Renji, you know about the war in Pyris?"

"Yes," Yanagi replied shortly. Hearing the slight hint of tension in Yanagi's voice, Sanada gave him a brief look of understanding.

"Tezuka sent Fuji there two days ago."

"Tezuka sent Fuji?" Yanagi asked, surprised. "Has the Council decided to intervene, after all?"

"No, of course not," Sanada replied with obvious contempt. "Seems Tezuka acted on his own. The Mage who had a contract with Pyris died a few days ago."

Fuji suddenly deciding to form a contract with Pyris as the city's Mage – unlikely, Yanagi concluded. In all the time they'd known each other, Fuji had never once shown willingness to be tied to any place. "So – Tezuka sent Fuji there to keep an eye on things in the interim while Pyris scrambles to find a new Mage to contract. Does the Council know yet?" Yanagi asked, impressed by Tezuka's audacity.

"Yes, but they'll probably let it slip." Strictly speaking, the Council had never issued any edict against personal action regarding the conflict. "But you know what the Council thinks of Fuji."

Fuji was already fully grown when the late Inui Sadaharu, a former Mage of Pyris and Yanagi's childhood friend, found him living in the Human world. A half-Cetera, but possessing surprising intelligence and surpassing talent at Magic, Fuji was interested in nothing and moved for no one, including the High Council of Cetera. If Fuji went, Tezuka must have invoked a personal favor unrelated to the Council business. The Council would have been quite cagey, particularly about the friendship between the unlikely pair, had not the apparently ambitionless Fuji retired to the remote wasteland of Hessedi at the first opportunity rather than pursuing any meaningful career. Still, even if the Academy never saw it fit to advance Fuji's rank beyond that of a Mage, his reputation as a prodigy was a well-deserved one. Sanada could certainly appreciate the logic behind Tezuka's choice. 

Yanagi gave a careless shrug. "Before, maybe. I doubt they care about Fuji at this point."

"Perhaps," Sanada conceded. "Either way, I doubt Atobe would let them remove Tezuka." Sanada's voice was approving, if grudgingly.

"I thought you didn't like Atobe," Yanagi observed with a hint of amusement.

"He's obnoxious and arrogant," Sanada agreed, "but he's no fool. I suspect he has his own reasons for keeping Tezuka."

"He needs all the support, or at least neutrality, that he can get in the Council," Yanagi guessed. "Is he still trying to pressure the Eldest to resign early?"

Sanada narrowed his eyes. "He's hardly made it a secret that he wants to become one of the Primi. I wouldn't put it past him."

"Ah," Yanagi's lips twitched, "has he tried bribing them yet?"

"I think it would hurt his pride if he had to stoop to that," Sanada answered dryly. "He thinks everyone should be falling over themselves to give way to him."

Yanagi laughed at that. "Naturally." He took another sip of his tea.

"I don't like it," Sanada said in a low voice after a long pause.

"You don't like Fuji very much," Yanagi remarked neutrally.

"I don't trust him," Sanada corrected. "You remember the Council's reaction when they first realized his existence."

"Very surprised. On guard. I remember several Council members objected to his joining the Cetera."

"For once, with good reasons," Sanada said firmly.

"There has been other cases of half-Cetera children turning up fully grown," Yanagi pointed out.

"But none as powerful," Sanada countered. "It's impossible for someone with his level of Magic to have reached full maturity without anyone noticing."

"He'll get the job done," Yanagi said matter-of-factly.

"I have no doubt about his ability," Sanada conceded. "But I do not trust him. It was careless of Tezuka to send someone the Council already distrusts."

"I'm sure Tezuka had his reasons." Yanagi's tone held a touch of finality. He'd known Fuji longer than Sanada had, and despite the Council's paranoia, Yanagi was never convinced Fuji posed any threat.

Sanada nodded in acquiescence. The issue of Fuji was not worth fighting over. Especially because for Yanagi, Fuji's very existence was inextricably tied to the memories of Inui Sadaharu – a touchy subject even under the best circumstances.

"You know, I can understand why you refused your appointment to the Council," Yanagi said after a careful sip of his tea. "Atobe can play his games to heart's content, but in actuality, the Council is but a flimsy excuse to keep a closer watch on the most powerful of the Archmages."

"There's little reason to keep a watch on ordinary ones," Sanada answered wryly. "But that wasn't the reason why I declined."

"You declined because the Council once implicated your family name in a scandal," Yanagi replied, but did not pursue; like the subject of Inui, the scandal in question was one of the topics they avoided discussing by tacit agreement. "It would appear, then, either Tezuka is quite naive, or surprisingly unconcerned about his family name."

"I would expect the latter," Sanada replied dismissively. "Not that it matters. I'm glad I refused."

"You'd never have been able to keep Seiichi a secret for this long," Yanagi agreed. In that moment, Yukimura arrived in a flash of light, materializing in the middle of the room. "Is it alright for you to use your power so frequently?" Yanagi asked, reaching for the teapot. Yukimura shrugged, sliding into the chair next to Sanada with easy familiarity.

"It's all right. I'm not using any kind of Magic Cetera can detect, or understand." Yukimura murmured his thanks to Yanagi, who handed him a fresh cup of tea. "I wouldn't be so thoughtless as to inconvenience Genichirou by being caught."

"I'm sure Genichirou appreciates your thoughtfulness," Yanagi drawled amusedly. It was a standing joke between the two of them, that Sanada was so protective of someone who would likely never require his protection. Seeing a faint blush on Sanada's cheeks, Yanagi refrained from making further comments, but Yukimura's eyes were dancing.

"I try," Yukimura replied modestly, provoking a much put upon look from Sanada. Yanagi merely smiled. He didn't think Sanada really minded being teased, not when it was just the three of them.

"Did I mention your shields around the training chamber were a complete success?" Yanagi tactfully changed subject, deciding they could continue some other time. "No spell from outside could detect the Magic used inside the shields, no matter how powerful. I think I've run enough tests to be sure."

"Excellent. Thank you, Renji," Sanada said promptly, everything else promptly forgotten. Yanagi and Yukimura exchanged amused looks. Sanada was fanatical in his dedication to training, for both himself and his pupil.

"I take it Akaya has been most impatient?" Yanagi prodded, hiding a smile.

Sanada frowned with a touch of exasperation. "Akaya has much to learn. But his talent is exceptional, and his desire to improve, commendable."

"And Akaya _has_ shown promising growth," Yukimura agreed. "When he's not driving Genichirou up a wall, that is. I will finish shielding the practice chambers today, then."

"Thank you," Sanada answered with a hint of irony. Although Kirihara Akaya, Sanada's wayward pupil, was quite possibly the most intractable individual Sanada had the misfortune to meet, the boy held an uncharacteristic, unquestioning respect for Yukimura's authority. Strange how Yukimura brought them all so much closer. Once, Yukimura was a secret for Sanada alone. Now the secret was shared by a tight-knit group of seven, who were fiercely dedicated to each other, and to Yukimura.

"Not at all," Yukimura returned in kind, not missing a beat. Yanagi serenely sipped his tea. Oh yes, his life was certainly more interesting with the other two around.


	6. Ripples, 04. Ryoma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part belongs to one of the backstory sub-arc, Ripples, and takes place 10 years before the events in the main story. Main character alert! Also, please note: **minor character death in this part.**

  
**_Et Cetera: Ripples_** by _Shiraume_  


**04\. Ryoma**

Echizen Ryoma never knew his father.

He knew his last name was his father's surname. But he had never met his father's side of the family. He didn't know what happened to his father, either. His mother never talked about it, and he never asked.

He didn't need to ask to know he wasn't supposed to exist.

He looked no different from a Human child. Presumably a Cetera child too, though he'd never seen one. Nonetheless he learned the words "half-breed" and "Cetera" as soon as he could understand language. It was hard not to, when every adult whispered them whenever things shattered, caught fire, or moved on their own around him. Strange things happened when he was angry or upset, which wasn't very often, but he couldn't help those. So it became the same no matter where they went. Sooner or later too many people in the village would talk, and his mother would gather him close, hugged him tightly and told him it was all right. The next day, they would pack up and leave for another town.

After a while, he was nothing like a Human child at all. There was nothing wrong with him physically, of course, save that he did not grow. His mother never told him his exact age. But he could remember at least ten summers when he still looked like a toddler, when every stranger they met on the road cooed over him and pinched his cheek. Whenever he scowled and told them to go away, the strangers were amused and surprised by how well he walked and talked. Even when he could recall twenty-one different summers, he barely reached the height of an eight-year-old child.

He hated it. It was a constant reminder he didn't belong, that he should never have existed in the first place. His mother's face was still beautiful but careworn, lined with worries and years of hardship. He might look a child, but his mind was no longer that of child, and he knew very well his mother would not have to wander from town to town working every odd job if not for him. A Human child would have grown quickly, and would have been able to help her by now. He wasn't and couldn't, even if his efforts often charmed his mother's employers into being more generous.

When he could remember twenty-five different summers, people already looked at them strangely, because his mother looked older than her actual age, and he still looked like a child. He abhorred it when someone asked if he was her grandson, and a quite few people's clothes caught fire after they asked. The fire was (mostly) harmless, but his mother drew him aside and gave him a stern look, telling him he must never use his powers to vent his anger. But she knew he couldn't really control his powers; he never learned how. His mother kept trying to find him a teacher, but without success. She was always careful not to approach the Cetera Mages, going so far as to avoid large cities altogether so they would never run into them. Human Mages were much harder to come by, and the rare few his mother was willing to trust always refused to take him as a student.

He remembered thirty one summers when they traveled down the River Eredia to the City of Pyris. Pyris was an independent city-state, his mother explained. A well-situated trading port, with a diverse population known to be tolerant about different folks. It would be easier to blend in, his mother said, and then more to herself, maybe they would find someone there willing to help him.

But when the two of them reached the outskirts of Pyris, a war broke out and they found themselves trapped between two advancing armies. The contenders were two larger neighboring kingdoms who had shared River Eredia as their border for generations. Ketys and Brinwold, unlike the tiny city-state of Pyris, maintained a good relationship with the Cetera and their High Council. Each claimed prior injury from the other, and after a half-hearted inquest, the Cetera decided not to intervene.

Day after day, refugees from either side of the border fled to the neutral Pyris and the handful of surrounding villages under its domain. His mother considered taking refuge within the fortified walls of Pyris itself, but decided against it when they learned Pyris had contract with a Cetera Mage. A kindly man by all accounts, but his mother firmly shook her head, and that was that. Only a week later, the point was rendered moot when two delegations, each bearing a royal standard, marched into the city. The next day, Pyris declared it would accept no more refugees, while simultaneously refusing to expel those already within its walls.

The villages just outside the walls of Pyris trembled, knowing it was but a matter of time now before the precarious neutrality of Pyris and its territory would be challenged.

He did not know if it was Ketys or Brinwold that made the first move. But scarcely a day later, contending armies rushed into the village where he and his mother were staying, one side attempting to establish a line of defense, the other side trying to break past it. Huddled with his mother inside an old abandoned barn, he watched with rising fury as the soldiers turned their blades and spears on villagers just as easily as on each other. He was angry, so very angry, not at the soldiers but at himself, for being unable to _do_ anything, for being such a helpless _child_. He could make fire out of thin air, make it burn for days without wood or oil. In fact, he thought, he could make a fire large enough to swallow a whole village. But he couldn't stop the flames of war spreading to this small village.

And he couldn't stop the burning beams from falling. Or his mother, who dove to push him out of the way. He couldn't stop the bleeding as his mother breathed her last in his arms. He couldn't hear the last words his mother whispered to him, or the deafening noise as the rest of the ceiling finally gave out. He didn't notice that somehow the falling debris did not touch them, leaving them in a small circle of clearing in their midst. Sitting with his mother's cooling body cradled in his arms, he saw and heard nothing. He felt a strange _pull_ from within, but ignored it, and eventually, the feeling went away and all was dark and silent once more.

In the first light of the next day, he was forced to accept what happened. His mother was dead, and he was alone. He would have to find a way to survive on his own, because it was what his mother would have wanted. She struggled to keep him alive all these years, and he did not dare let her efforts go to waste. So he buried his mother in a shallow grave, since he was too small to dig deeper, and covered it with largest stones he could carry. And he sat there, turning at every noise, half-expecting his mother to appear.

A sudden scream startled him, and instantly the charred remains of the barn burst into flames. For once, he thought he might be able to make the flames understand what he wanted. So he called the fire to him and felt it respond. Felt it tingling underneath his skin. And everything was bright and beautiful and terrible, like breathing pure light, and it scared him and thrilled him and awed him. For the single instant, there was no time or space, just him and the fire under his skin, _and it was ecstasy_.

When he opened his eyes, he found a young man watching him, with eyes as blue as the sky above. Neither of them said anything, but he thought he knew who this was, and who _he_ was for the first time. The two of them were the same, he thought, as he saw himself reflected in those depthless eyes. The young man tilted his head and smiled. It was a nice smile, but there was something artificial about the expression that made him frown. At that, the smile melted away, and the young man walked forward until they were an arm's length away. Slowly, a hand extended towards him.

He met those blue, blue eyes, and thought he understood the meaning of this hand, and what it meant to take it.

He took one more look at his mother's grave, and firmly grasped the hand with his own.


	7. Ripples, 05. Tezuka, Primi & Atobe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part belongs to one of the backstory sub-arc, Ripples, and takes place 10 years before the events in the main story. _**Please note:** Ripples 2, 3, 4 and 5 all take place within few days of each other._

  
**_Et Cetera: Ripples_** by _Shiraume_  


**05\. Tezuka, Primi & Atobe**

The lights flickered in the hallway, stretched into the darkness like an underground tunnel. The lights grew fainter as he continued walking, and by the time Tezuka reached the great double doors of the _Primi_ 's office, he could hardly see his own feet. He knocked twice, and waited until the doors opened, revealing at first nothing but the darkness. Tezuka walked slowly to let his eyes adjust, his steps steady and measured, until he stood before the great dais where the three eldest members of the Cetera's High Council waited. As he approached, the three rose from their high-backed thrones behind the long, ornately carved desk.

"Archmage Tezuka Kunimitsu of Heda, Youngest of the Council, reporting as requested," Tezuka said with a bow. The three elders returned the bow shallowly and straightened immediately afterward, resuming their seats. "What is it that you wished to speak to me about?"

"We thank you for coming, Archmage Tezuka of Heda, our Youngest," the Second said in her melodious voice.

"We wish to speak to you about the series of events that has occurred in the past few weeks," the Third's cool, crisp voice boomed.

"First of all, we wish to ask you this: is it true you sent Mage Fuji of Hessedi to Pyris?" the kindly voice of the Eldest asked.

"It is true," Tezuka answered.

"We are sure you only had the best interests of Cetera at heart." Melancholy colored the Second's words, but the faint smile on her lips was as cold as her eyes. "And we have received favorable reports from Pyris. Therefore, we are willing to let this matter go without a reprimand. This time."

"However," the Third said sternly, "we would like some assurance that in the future, our Youngest will not act so rashly and thoughtlessly, however much his youth may excuse such...indiscretion."

"You are silent," the Eldest observed mildly. Tezuka turned his eyes to the Eldest, meeting his eyes without flinching.

"I understand that I have displeased the Council," Tezuka said evenly, "but I do not accept that my action was an indiscretion."

"You dare to --" the Third started, but the First raised his hand, and the Third fell silent. The First gestured him to go on, and Tezuka continued.

"The death of Pyris's Mage endangered the residents of the city. Fuji, being neither directly affiliated with Heda nor in contract with another city, was in the ideal position to offer assistance to Pyris in the interim. As I stated in the report, he provided valuable aid to Pyris and conducted himself without fault. My decision was for the best interests of Pyris and its residents."

The Third looked as if he wanted to say something, but the First glanced at him sharply, and he pressed his lips into a tighter line.

"We hear Mage Fuji picked up a stray kitten," murmured the Second. Her tone was deceptively conversational, but Tezuka did not allow himself to relax, knowing this was far from over.

"Fuji brought back a half-Cetera child with him," Tezuka corrected.

"And you recommended that the child be mentored by Mage Fuji," Third pointed out scornfully.

"Fuji is a qualified Mage," Tezuka replied blandly, as if he had not noticed the Third's tone.

"Mage Fuji is himself a half-blood. He's had no formal training --" the Third began, imperious.

"He can hold his own with the best of our Mages," Tezuka pointed out, voice a shade colder.

"It is our time-honored law," the Second interrupted before the Third could continue, "that the sins of the parents do not pass on to the children. This child has the right to be accepted as one of us, and of course, to receive training as one of Cetera's own."

"But under Mage Fuji? Surely, there are more qualified Mages who can train the child," Third insisted.

Tezuka curbed his impatience and replied smoothly. "Most Mages are unlikely to accept a half-Cetera child as a pupil." 

"And has Mage Fuji accepted the responsibility?" The Eldest asked in a gentle but grave voice.

"Yes," Tezuka replied promptly. In fact, Fuji had been the one who said he would mentor the child in the first place. That had been no small shock in itself. Although Fuji himself was a half-Cetera, his Mage certification exam at the Academy was something of a legend, and he _had_ been asked to become a mentor at least a dozen times over the years. But Fuji had never accepted a pupil before.

"Perhaps it is for the best," the Second said softly, smiling. Tezuka said nothing. He had spent far too much time with Fuji to not know a fake smile when he saw one. Besides, the Second wasn't quite subtle enough to mask the cool gleam of contempt in her eyes.

The Third began to protest, but the Eldest held up a hand, silencing him. "Very well. The child is orphaned, as we understand." Tezuka nodded. "Then, perhaps it would be advisable for the child to have a guardian until he reaches majority. And who better than you, our esteemed Youngest, who has ever been the champion of his cause?" Only Tezuka's legendary self-control allowed him to hide his surprise. As if sensing his discomfort, the Eldest gave him a benign smile. "Do you accept?"

Tezuka knew far too well what accepting a half-blood child as his ward would do to the respected name of his family. Even though guardianship was technically not an adoption, being a guardian was not very different from being a parent in terms of legal responsibilities.

Without another word, Tezuka inclined his head briefly. "I do."

"Then, it is decided," the First announced with finality. "We thank you for coming, Archmage Tezuka, and wish you a pleasant day."

Tezuka gave them a slight bow, which the three elders returned, and strode out, closing the door behind him. Consciously, he unclenched his hands from the folds of his robe.

The _Primi_ did not believe a half-blood child would amount to anything. But Fuji would never have volunteered to take someone in without good reasons, especially after refusing to take pupils for the last four centuries. Fuji certainly would not have accepted the child out of pity. And he already had an idea what Fuji's reasons might be.

**********

When he returned to his house, he found Atobe waiting for him in his study, impatiently flipping through a book. Atobe whirled to face him as soon as he entered the room.

"Did you accept?" Atobe asked without preamble. It didn't surprise Tezuka that Atobe already knew; Atobe had many eyes and ears within the Council. Tezuka did not reply immediately, instead taking a seat and gesturing for Atobe to do the same. Atobe sat in the recliner opposite from him, and looked sufficiently agitated that Tezuka decided to take pity on him.

"Yes."

"You're taking in a half-blood. With Fuji Syuusuke as his mentor," Atobe said flatly, but still managed to communicate his incredulity.

"Correct," Tezuka confirmed, expressionless.

Atobe's expression was a mixture of disgust and thinly veiled anger. "Why? Accepting punishment like a good boy is the last thing I expected from you."

"What makes you think I am?" Tezuka countered, meeting Atobe's eyes steadily. Atobe looked back at him blankly for a moment, then snorted with a short laugh.

"I see." Atobe studied the corner bookshelf for a few minutes. "Something special, is he?"

"I don't know yet," Tezuka answered honestly.

"Fuji thinks he's special," Atobe guessed. Seeing Tezuka's casual shrug, Atobe rolled his eyes. "I don't understand why you place so much confidence in Fuji's opinions."

"He sees things that others miss," Tezuka remarked, matter-of-fact, ignoring the disbelieving look Atobe gave him.

"If you want to delude yourself, I won't waste my time stopping you. But do try not to have a repetition of this little episode, will you?" Atobe drawled. "It's disgraceful to leave such a mess behind you."

"I wasn't aware you had to do much cleanup for this matter," Tezuka replied seriously, knowing Atobe would catch the amusement lurking underneath just the same.

"Hmph," Atobe sniffed haughtily. "You always were too selfish to notice other people going out of their way for you."

"And I'm sure it's caused you much grief," Tezuka answered, expression still perfectly serious. For a brief moment, Atobe's mouth twitched. "Do you have time for a match?" Tezuka asked, changing the subject. He had had enough of politics for the day, and wasn't in the mood to discuss the Council business any more. Judging from his expression, Tezuka thought Atobe could use some distraction himself.

"I suppose I can spare that much," Atobe said loftily, rising to his feet.

"Do you need a Ralt?" Tezuka asked, rising to join him. Atobe shrugged off his outer robe, revealing the Ralt strapped to his side. Noticing Tezuka's gaze, Atobe looked at him from the corners of his eyes, daring him to say something. Tezuka merely raised an eyebrow. "Let us go, then."

"After you," Atobe gestured archly.

"Thank you," Tezuka returned, and felt Atobe's surprised (and pleased) stare on his back all the way to the practice arena. It was one thing Fuji and Atobe shared, as much as the two of them would hate to share anything at all: trying to get a reaction from Tezuka. Tezuka responded less to Atobe's attempts because – well, Atobe reacted more to being ignored than Fuji did. Since Atobe was behind him and couldn't see his face, Tezuka allowed a half-smile at the thought.

Once inside the practice arena, Tezuka closed his eyes and took a quick breath, letting the rush of Magic overcome his usual reservation. Their occasional practice matches were important to both of them, because it was the only time they could let go and feel nothing but the exhilaration of power that only those with true gift could ever hope to understand. In this moment, just for this one brilliant, piercing instant, Tezuka could believe _this_ was what he lived for, and will away the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** Some of the design elements in Cetera-verse, most notably the Ralt in this part, were adapted from _MASCA_ by Kim Yeong-Hee. While my story elements do not bear much resemblance to _MASCA's_ , it is only fair I should mention it.


	8. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is Cetera's 9-year anniversary.
> 
>  ** _Et Cetera_** was born 11.20.2004, six months after I first got into the _Prince of Tennis_ , third TeniPuri epic-length fanfic I started, and the second to finish (7.18.2006). I'm still playing desperate catch-up for the NaNoWriMo 2013, but no matter what I had to do an update for Cetera today. So here's the second chapter of _**Et Cetera**_.

> “...Although the War of Adamant lasted only four years, the loss of life and damage to the ecosphere were staggering across the world. The ancient forests surrounding the White Mountains were all but destroyed, and the rich fields around Irida (1) were left barren, devoid of life. Among the Sprites, Earth-Dragons and Ice-Dragons became extinct, and other Dragon-kinds were nearly depleted in number; Unicorns and Elementals likewise suffered devastating losses, especially Light, the rarest of the Elementals even before the war, of which only a handful remained. Therefore, although Cetera’s own pain and loss were great, the High Council declared a state of emergency and took the endangered Sprites under protection.”
> 
> _\----- History of Cetera, vol. XXVII_  
> 

(1) Old name for Irodea, the current capital of Ketys.

**_Et Cetera_ **

**Chapter 2**

Castor and Ryoma need not have worried; Tezuka was not at Cassidna Mansion when they arrived. On the other hand, Fuji was deathly ill with high fever, and nothing, no medicine or herbs, could improve his condition. As he watched over Fuji all night, Ryoma fought down unnamed terror with each labored breath, each faint sound -- never too loud, as if the pain was too great to cry out any louder. Ryoma did not remember when he fell asleep.

When he awoke, Ryoma was greeted by the sight of Fuji lying pale and still against the sheets, his fever broken. He looked for Castor from the window, but the Ice-Dragon was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, Ryoma went to fetch a basin of water and washcloth; Castor never came or went without reason, and would come back in due time. As he set about wiping the damp skin of Fuji’s face, as he had done so many times during the night, something caught his eyes. Actually, two things struck him: one was that Fuji did not have any bruises from yesterday’s fight, and in fact had no other scars than the ones left by the Vanuk on his right shoulder and left forearm. Fuji had told him no healing spell would work on the wounds received from Vanuk, yet the two wounds were closed, and judging from the looks of them, already healing. The other was a red mark on the back of Fuji’s left hand, too vividly red to be a bruise.

Curious, Ryoma leaned to take a closer look, and realized the faint, apricot-sized mark was made of thin red lines forming a complex pattern, too regular and symmetrical to be an accidental shape. Though it was fading, the mark stood out starkly red against Fuji’s pale skin. After a few minutes, Ryoma continued his task, but couldn’t help stealing glances at the strange mark.

It was near nightfall when Castor returned. Ryoma was grateful, because although Fuji seemed to be merely sleeping, he still had not regained consciousness. After a look at Fuji, Castor reassured Ryoma he would be fine.

“Where did you go?” Ryoma was annoyed that his voice sounded more petulant than he had intended.

Castor chuckled, and answered his real question. “I left when I was sure Fuji was out of danger, little one. I wanted to make sure there were no Vanuk left. You were already asleep, so I did not wake you.”

“Fuji would have known if there were any left,” Ryoma said with a slight frown.

“And I should have known about the Vanuk lurking so near my lair,” Castor replied, a hint of steel in his tone. “It never hurts to be sure, little one.”

“Spoken like a true Dragon,” Ryoma muttered, but Castor merely let out a low rumble, which, for him, passed for a chuckle. “You never knew?” His voice was serious, and Castor bowed his head minutely, thoughtful.

“I never noticed them,” Castor admitted. “However, the Vanuk are difficult to detect.” Seeing Ryoma’s confusion, Castor explained. “The Vanuk are an ancient breed of hunters. They hunt down the beings of Magic,” Castor paused, eyes narrowing, “The _unauthorized_ kind of Magic. They have the ability to either negate Magic or turn it against the user. They cloak themselves quite well, and at one time had been the greatest threat against Human Mages and Sprites.”

“And Dragons,” Ryoma hazarded a guess, and Castor stiffened.

“Yes,” Castor confirmed, his eyes cold as his element. “It was a long time ago, however, since the last of them had been sighted.” He left it unsaid that it was more than a little strange that the Vanuk never came hunting for him in his lair, even though they had been so close.

“Do you think it’s possible that more have survived?”

Castor shook his immense head. “I do not know, little one. It is not impossible.”

“But who created them?” Ryoma asked, half curious and half frustrated. “Why do they hunt those with Magic?”

Castor looked at him with ageless wisdom, sharpened with experience and tempered with time, and Ryoma instantly guessed it was not a subject Castor wished to discuss with him. “Those are not questions unfitting from one like you,” Castor answered finally, “but their answers are not yet fitting for you to hear. Nor can I give you the full and truthful answers, for I do not know if there is any alive now who has them.” Castor paused for a long moment. “But I will tell you this: Vanuk were created to destroy life. No matter who created them or for what purpose, what they do defines what they are.”

Ryoma frowned. “But do they choose what they do?” Castor looked startled for a moment, then smiled.

“You bring up a very good point, little one. No wonder Fuji thinks so highly of you.”

Ryoma ducked his head to hide a pleased flush, knowing that Castor never lied, and missed the knowing look on the ancient Dragon’s face. It wasn’t like he cared what Fuji thought... Okay, he did care, but Fuji made a lifestyle out of not saying anything clearly, and damned if Ryoma was going to admit something before Fuji did. 

Early next morning, Fuji finally awoke, weak and exhausted, but unchanged, himself, and Castor returned to his lair after he was satisfied that Fuji would be all right. Although Ryoma said nothing, he was sure his relief was palpable, which probably explained why Fuji gave in with good graces when he offered to help with Fuji’s bath. The main bath in Cassidna Mansion was the most elaborate part of the house, as well as the most modern; the bathroom had gone through a series of extensive renovations and featured an innovative new plumbing system and a large marble bathtub sunk into the floor. As he applied fire spell to help warm the bathwater faster, Ryoma stole furtive glances at Fuji, concerned by the pallor that still lingered. Fuji sat by the bathtub, hands resting lightly on the edge, his skin as white as the marble underneath.

Ryoma frowned. The red mark on Fuji’s left hand was missing.

“Something the matter, Echizen?”

Ryoma snapped his gaze back to his mentor’s face. Fuji seemed like his usual self, veiled and layered, never giving away even the slightest weakness. Usually he was frustrated with Fuji for being who he was -- guarded and secretive -- but today it was reassuring, that Fuji felt strong enough to act like his normal self. So Ryoma shook his head.

“I’m surprised Castor stayed here for so long,” Fuji murmured, in his usual way of questioning without actually asking.

“I told him about Tezuka,” Ryoma answered. After ten years with him, Fuji’s line of thoughts was no longer such a great mystery, at least some of the times.

“And he still came,” Fuji said quietly.

“I told him I trust Tezuka,” Ryoma replied, becoming a little uneasy; Castor was important to Fuji, and Fuji guarded him as jealously as Castor guarded his lair, and Tezuka was, strictly speaking, an outsider.

Fuji was quiet for a moment. “I see.”

Ryoma let out an annoyed sigh. “Tezuka wouldn’t ask you for explanations. Or betray your secrets.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t,” Fuji replied evenly. “Thank you,” he added in a softer voice, stepping closer to the bath.

Ryoma stared at him, surprised by the easy capitulation. “You’re welcome,” Ryoma answered, and turned his back to the rustle of Fuji’s clothes sliding to the floor. When he heard the quiet splash of Fuji settling in the bathwater, Ryoma gathered the discarded clothing and left, feeling Fuji’s gaze on his back.

**********

A little after midnight, in the northernmost peak of the Pia Mountains, a distant rumble sounded from deep underground, shattering the silence of the night around the Lake Genetra. The next instant, a pillar of blinding light surged from the Pia Mountains and touched the sky, like a white-hot blade piercing the heaven. Then, a few minutes later, the beam of light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no trace of what transpired just moments ago.

Many leagues away from the Pia Mountains, in the fields sleeping under the Seven Mountains, a figure stumbled and fell, just out of sight from a nearby village. The figure lay on the ground where it had fallen, unmoving save for the long strands of dark brown hair stirring in the spring night breeze.

**********

Mist twined its tendrils over the iridescent water of the Lake Aeterna, deep in the heart of Heda. The lake surface was calm, windless, yet the mist moved and twirled on its own accord.

In the center of the lake, underneath the shifting colors of the water, a light flickered weakly. But it was soon muffled under the wisps of the mist, and when the waters were visible again, the light was nowhere to be seen.

**********

The next morning, Tezuka returned from Morgiana’s lair in the Northern Vales. Though he seemed surprised to see both of them home, Tezuka made no comment upon seeing how pale Fuji was.

“Were you ill?” Tezuka asked, and Fuji nodded, with a barely perceptible smile. Tezuka did not ask anything further. In fact, Tezuka did not so much as offer a comment how this was the first time Fuji’d ever gotten sick during all the centuries they’d known each other. Fuji allowed a moment to reflect Ryoma might have been right. Before he could ask how Tezuka’s research went, Tezuka spoke again. “Did you see what happened last night, shortly after midnight?”

Fuji shook his head, puzzled. “I’ve been ill the last few days, so I went to bed early.”

“You missed it?” Tezuka sounded mildly surprised. “A pillar of light was seen, rising from the Pia Mountains region, enough to turn the night sky bright for a few minutes.”

“I did,” Fuji admitted, surprised himself that he had not. He made a note to ask Ryoma whether he had seen the light; it would be just like his pupil to neglect mentioning something like that. Ryoma had a natural abundance of talent and near-photographic memory when it came to Magic, but tended to ignore most things that didn’t concern him directly. 

Tezuka looked thoughtful. “Heda will most likely send a team to investigate the Pia Mountains soon. I would prefer to have a better idea what it might have been before they get to the place. But I don’t have enough time to examine the grounds myself.”

Fuji studied Tezuka’s face, noting the slight hints of frustration. Then, an alarm went off in his mind. “Pia Mountains, did you say?”

Tezuka blinked, surprised. “Yes,” he replied. Fuji looked away, troubled. Heda had alliances with the Water-Dragon clans. If they used the Water-Dragons, Heda’s investigative team would arrive in matter of hours, if not less. If Heda sent a team now, right into Castor’s lair... Dragon Magic was tricky, and Castor had several layers of weaves protecting his lair, but Heda’s investigators nonetheless might stumble into the hidden cave, catching Castor unaware.

“Can you delay the team from getting there?” Fuji asked suddenly. Tezuka looked at Fuji, surprise in his eyes. In all the years they’d known each other, Fuji had never once asked anything like this from him. Or anything at all, really. Tezuka leveled a questioning look at him, asking without words. “There is something I need to do,” Fuji said after a moment of consideration. “But the Council won’t like it very much.” The calm, penetrating gaze was difficult to meet, but Fuji met it head-on, knowing Tezuka required his honesty, as much as he was able to give, before considering his request.

After a moment of pause, Tezuka nodded. “How long do you need?”

“A day. No more than that.”

Tezuka considered this. “Can I borrow your Book?” Fuji did not think to question, and led Tezuka his study. “I may not be able to convince them to stay away for a whole day,” Tezuka warned, before turning his attention to the copper basin where Fuji’s inactive Book rested in the form of water-mirror. As Tezuka began to speak to Atobe, Fuji quietly retreated from the room, giving the two of them privacy. Out in the hallway, he looked up to see Ryoma walking towards him.

“Is Tezuka still here?” Ryoma asked, and Fuji nodded.

“Don’t go in yet.” Ryoma nodded in response, and walked back with Fuji to the sitting room, waiting for Tezuka to finish and join them. In little less than ten minutes, Tezuka returned and rejoined them.

“The Council’s action regarding the last night’s incident has been postponed until after a meeting has been held,” Tezuka announced. “The meeting will take place midday.” Fuji nodded, relieved. The Council meetings tended to take hours and hours; any action of the Council would be delayed a full day. “You might want to take less time than they do,” Tezuka added, his glance significant. A fleeting frown crossed Fuji’s brows, then he nodded.

“Then, we don’t have time to waste,” Fuji said quietly. Ryoma glanced at him, worry in his eyes.

“You’re not strong enough.”

Tezuka’s frown was hint enough that he was restraining himself from asking questions.

“No,” Fuji agreed, and closed his eyes, focusing. His bond with Castor was strong, forged over many centuries, Dragon’s possessive Magic wound together with his own. He gave a sharp tug on that connection, weaving the call together with a sense of urgency, and felt Castor stir in response, alert and focused. “He’ll be here shortly,” Fuji announced. Ryoma nodded, ignoring Tezuka’s questioning gaze, knowing Tezuka would get his answers very soon.

Scarce fifteen minutes later, Castor landed in the backyard of Cassidna Mansion. Ryoma looked rather smug at Tezuka’s speechless surprise. “An Ice-Dragon,” Tezuka murmured, disbelief and wonder in his voice. “I thought the War of Adamant had seen the last of the Ice-Dragons.”

“I am most likely the last of my kind,” Castor confirmed. Tezuka, apparently recalling his manners, bowed to Castor, which Castor returned formally. “You must be Tezuka of Cetera. I am Castor of the Ice-Dragons.”

“I am honored to meet you,” Tezuka said, and the sincerity of his tone was impossible to misconstrue.

“Likewise. The little one here,” Castor indicated Ryoma with a toss of his head, “has told me about you.” Tezuka raised an eyebrow in inquiry, and Ryoma merely shrugged in return. Fuji traded an amused glance with Castor.

“Cetera’s High Council will want to investigate the Pia Mountains,” Fuji said, turning all their attention back to the matter at hand; peripherally he was aware of the dawning understanding in Tezuka’s eyes. “Will your lair be all right?”

“There is nothing there that would attract the Council’s attention,” Castor replied slowly. “A masking spell with Dragon-Magic, and no one will be the wiser.” After a pause, Castor added, almost an afterthought, “I can stay in the Crystal Forest in the meantime.”

“You don’t trust the Council.” Tezuka’s tone made it clear it was not a question.

“I do not,” Castor replied, distaste thinly veiled. Tezuka regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

“You are wise not to.”

It was spoken with typical Tezuka-like simplicity, and Castor blinked for a moment, before chuckling heartily. “Cetera have changed much in the past five millennia,” Castor said finally, his voice a deep, pleased rumble, “if they’ve managed to raise one like you in their midst.”

Tezuka inclined his head, brief but formal, acknowledging the praise without arrogance or subservience. Castor’s approving look turned a shade warmer, and Fuji was startled by his own relief. In the periphery of his vision, Ryoma ducked his head, but not quickly enough to hide a smile.

Fuji felt his own lips tugged into a smile in response, sparkling with relief and warmth.

**********

Tezuka found Atobe waiting his sitting room, when he briefly returned to his own mansion to change before attending the Council meeting. Atobe looked displeased, his lips pulled into a tight line. Well accustomed with his friend’s moods, Tezuka sat down, gesturing for Atobe to do the same, and waited.

“The Council is all astir,” Atobe said without preamble, which showed how concerned he was about the situation. “You,” Atobe jabbed a finger towards Tezuka, “are lucky that they won’t connect _you_ to my suggesting a Council meeting.” Tezuka did not deny it. He had been grating on the Council’s nerves, and especially those of the _Primi_ , for a long time. And he had been in the area at the time the light appeared. The Council would have become highly suspicious of him -- possibly enough to place him under observation -- if he had been the one to suggest a meeting which was sure to pose a significant delay in the investigation. 

“Have they sent out a team yet?” Tezuka asked instead; neither of them had been much for gratitude or apology between them.

“Oh, they sent out a small team to, and I quote, ‘contain the situation,’ and to keep Humans away from the spot until Council decides what to do.” Atobe’s eyes sharpened, reading the question in Tezuka’s. “If they found anything worthwhile, I would know.”

“They don’t have a guess, then, what it might have been?” Tezuka asked. Atobe shook his head once.

“No, I don’t think they do. That much light should have left more residue of power, or some kind of Magic.” Atobe eyed Tezuka, thoughtful. “You were in the area. Did you feel something?”

“Yes,” Tezuka confirmed, a slight frown creasing his brows. “But as you said, not anything particular that matches something of that scale.”

“I have Light, the rarest of all Elementals.” There was no pride in Atobe’s voice. “But even with Elemental Light, it’s difficult to generate that much light. It would take far greater Magic than I am capable of supplying. And there is no one else who commands Elemental Light at our level.” Atobe did not bother mentioning a level higher than theirs. Both knew no such level existed. “Furthermore, Elementals draw from their environment; there doesn’t seem to be any sign of Magical drain around the Pia Mountains.”

“The Council must be rather nervous,” Tezuka remarked quietly.

“Yes,” Atobe agreed. His lips were still drawn to a tight line, and Tezuka turned his eyes away.

“Enough to start another rat-flush?”

Atobe raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been hanging around Fuji too much, if you picked up such a rustic term.” Tezuka merely gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know,” Atobe finally answered after a long pause. “This is supposedly a time of peace. Unlike last time.” Atobe did not elaborate on the events of the last time, which was the direct reason the Human Mages were so rare and strictly controlled nowadays.

“Or rather, they’ve run out of convenient scapegoats,” Tezuka said calmly. There was another stretch of silence.

“That’s why you should be careful.” Atobe’s voice was low, serious. “You already give them too much excuse.”

“I can handle myself,” Tezuka said, not defensive. Atobe snorted.

“Of course you can. Why else would I bother wasting my time with you?” Atobe drawled, and Tezuka couldn’t help a quirk of his mouth at the contradictory reply. He knew Atobe knew this, too. They had always understood each other.

And it was enough for them.

**********

Three figures stood over the waters of Aeterna, cloaked and hooded in white, their outline almost blurring with the everlasting mist curling over the water.

“A disturbance, for the first time in five thousand years,” a cool voice declared. The solemn statement was met with silence.

“The seal under the mountain has been broken. And the Vanuk guarding the sealed gate have all vanished,” a second voice, melodious and soft, intoned. “Too much, perhaps, for a coincidence.” For a long moment, only silence was the answer.

Third voice, raspy and slow. “We shall continue watching, as we have always. Verily our existence depends on our vigil.” Clearing of a throat, and the same voice continued.

“Whatever we must do, we will do, when the time comes. Now -- let us watch.”

**********

Sanada let out a sigh, softly as to not disturb Yukimura, who sat still with his eyes closed, brows drawn together in deep concentration. After a minute or two, Yukimura opened his eyes, looking frustrated.

“I can’t find the source.”

Yanagi close his book with a snap. “If you can’t find it, Seiichi, no one alive can. You don’t have any guesses what might have caused it?”

“No,” Yukimura replied, mouth tightening. “But...”

“Seiichi?” Sanada stepped closer, concerned by the distant look in Yukimura’s eyes.

“It...felt familiar, that surge of power. I felt it so clearly for one moment, then it was gone.”

“No one else in Heda recognized it,” Yanagi remarked neutrally. “Although everyone saw the light. Most likely, what has the Council on the edge is the fact that much light was generated with no corresponding surge of Magical energy. Nor was there any recognizable Magical signature.” Looking at Yukimura, Yanagi continued. “Yet you did. You felt it even before you saw that light.”

“There was only one source the column of light,” Yukimura replied absently. “I am certain of it.”

“Seiichi.” Sanada’s voice was quiet, but Yukimura’s eyes cleared, focusing on him. “Could you have done it if you wished? With nothing else to draw from, using only your own Magic to fuel something of that scale?”

“Yes,” Yukimura answered.

Sanada lowered his voice by another notch. “Is there anyone else who could have done it?”

Yukimura was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know.” Yukimura admitted. “I have been in this world longer than I care to remember. Yet, all this time, I cannot recall meeting another being with power enough to do that. The source of that power doesn’t need to be anything alive, of course, but --”

“In other words, it could be a powerful item of Magic. An artifact,” Yanagi interrupted. Yukimura looked at him, amusement slipping into the edges of his smile; Yanagi’s area of expertise and research was the applications and origin of Magic, with keen interest in Magical objects.

“Yes, but as I was saying,” Yukimura gave Yanagi a quelling look, who help up a placating hand, “Magical artifacts can amplify one’s Magic, or even serve as a temporary source for non-Magical beings, but they can’t act on their own. Someone must trigger them. A living, sentient being.” Yanagi gave a curt nod, his entire attention focused on Yukimura. “Furthermore, Magic cannot violate physical laws of this world.”

“It cannot be created out of nothingness, nor destroyed; merely transformed and reused,” Yanagi recited automatically. “One can’t make Magic work in a vacuum. But the light could hardly have been a natural phenomenon, either. So there must have been something sentient using Magic to summon that light last night, either by itself or with an exceptionally potent power source.”

“But I can’t find it. Not the user, or the source,” Yukimura’s words were accompanied by a slight frown. “It’s possible that the user moved away from that spot, but...”

“...How many Magical beings are in this world, except perhaps Dragons, that can travel fast enough to elude detection by Cetera?” Yanagi finished. And Dragons weren’t even a far cry of possibility. While Dragon-Magic was formidable, none of the Dragon-kinds could generate _light_.

“Exactly.” Yukimura sat back.

Sanada shook his head at them. The two of them could go on like this all day. “What I want to know,” Sanada said firmly, “is if this will cause trouble in the future.”

Yukimura’s eyes turned inward, his expression shuttered. “I don’t know,” Yukimura finally replied. “I do know, however, this may be the key I have been missing for all this time.” He looked down at his hands, his eyes reflective. “There are some things I don’t remember completely. I think...” he glanced up at Sanada, “...I think some parts of my memories might have been affected in the War of Adamant. This power, from last night...I don’t remember it. But I _know_ it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I can feel it.”

Sanada looked at Yukimura, taking in the distant, almost uncertain expression, one which might have reflected feelings of being lost on someone else. His eyes softened just a little in response. “Well, then, I think it’s time for us to take a short break,” Sanada said suddenly, drawing Yanagi’s attention. Yukimura’s eyes remained fixed on his lap. “I hear Gilean Forest is beautiful this time of the year,” he added. A moment later, as he expected, Yukimura’s eyes snapped back to him, understanding dawning in them. “How soon do you think you can arrange to have some time off from your research, Renji?”

Yanagi’s expression was a mixture of affection and exasperation. Really, Sanada was hopeless where Yukimura was concerned. “Two hours. Meet me at my house.” He rose, gathered his books, and left. Sanada and Yukimura looked at each other in silence.

“Thank you, Genichirou,” Yukimura said quietly, his bright eyes gentle.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Sanada replied. “I will go see to the preparations.”

As Sanada swept out of the room, a soft voice, so quiet that the words were all but lost in the air, whispered.

“Yes, I do.”

**********

The boy paused on his way home. The lady he had seen when he was leaving for his errand was still there, sitting alone in the edge of the barley field. His village was a small one, and everyone knew everyone else. This lady was a stranger. She was very beautiful, but her funny-looking white robe was almost in tatters, her hair spilling over her back in impossibly long brown waves. She looked so lonely sitting all by herself, and the boy forgot his mother’s warning not to speak to strangers.

“Are you lost?”

The lady raised her head, her wide brown eyes lovely and doe-like. “I don’t know.”

“Um...” That was not the standard answer, so the boy tried another tact. “Do you know where you are?”

“No,” she replied, her expression placid and untroubled.

The boy tentatively filed her under ‘lost.’ “Where is your family?” The brown eyes suddenly filled with pain, and the lady suddenly looked very, very anxious.

“Family...” she whispered, and suddenly, closed her eyes tight, holding her head in her hands. “I...don’t know,” she finally answered, and her face was so distraught that the boy was instantly filled with sympathy.

“Come with me. Maybe mum can help you find your family.” The boy held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, the lady took it. He nearly tripped over her hair, which trailed over the ground, and after a moment of thought, he gathered the long tresses and twined it around the lady’s arm. She’d probably need to cut her hair; it couldn’t be easy going around with so much hair getting in her way. Maybe his mother could help with that, too. Smiling, the boy led her towards his house. “My name is Taichi. Dan Taichi. What’s yours?”

There was a long silence, and when she answered, her voice was very soft. “I don’t remember.”

The boy tightened his hand around hers, feeling sorry for the lady. “Don’t worry. My mum and dad will help you. We’ll find your family. You’ll see.” The boy continued encouragingly. “I have a little sister. Do you have a little sister, too?”

The lady was quiet for a moment, brows creased. “No,” she decided, “I have little brothers.” After another moment, she said sadly, “I lost them.”

The boy remembered one time when he was little, and went out to play with his baby sister, his sister had gotten lost. Maybe that was what she meant?

“It’s okay. I can be your little brother until you find yours. Would you like that?”

The lady’s eyes focused on the boy’s face, and she finally smiled. “Yes, I would like that.” The boy beamed at her, pulling her along by the hand. Her hand was warm, her hold firm and gentle. Her full, red lips curved into a smile, but her eyes seemed distant somehow, as if looking at something far away.

The boy pulled her into the house and closed the door behind them.

****

END OF CHAPTER 2


	9. Pairwise, 01. Oishi - Family Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First part of the backstory subarc, Pairwise. How Oishi Syuuichirou became a healer and a Mage. Rated G for this part. Subtitled “Family Ways.” 2,557 words. Eiji’s part is coming up next, because Golden Pair should be together. =)

  
_**Et Cetera: Pairwise**_ by _Shiraume_  


**01\. Oishi - Family Ways**

"One of the longest-lived Sprites are the Elementals, of which there are five: Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Light, with Light being the rarest. Elementals are of the highest order of Sprites, and can be handled only by the most powerful and experienced Mages. Often, the bond between a Mage and an Elemental is life-long and exclusive. Though an Elemental is not subject to the Mage's will, once bonded, an Elemental will remain loyal to the chosen Mage for life.

"Elementals reach maturity thirty years after their birth and have a lifespan of five centuries. Elementals do not reproduce biologically, but close to the time of their demise, they will produce heirs (usually one or two) to take over their position. Elementals can only produce like Elementals (i.e. Fire begets Fire, Air begets Air). Like any of the Sprites, Elementals can be extinguished from existence by an excessive Magical drain or irreparable physical damage. The War of Adamant is especially blamed for the rapid decline of the Elementals, especially Light."

\----- _Advanced Theories of Magic, vol.1_

The earliest memory Oishi had of himself was probably from when he was two or three, playing in his uncle's herb storeroom. His mother scolded him for troubling his uncle, but his uncle told her it was all right: Syuuichirou could play there as long as he left the herbs alone. After that, Oishi was very careful not to mess up anything in the room when he played. His uncle gave him an indulgent smile, and taught him the names of the herbs, one by one. Oishi amused himself by putting those names into the nursery rhymes his mother sang to him, and by the time he was seven years old, he could name nearly all the herbs in his uncle’s storeroom.

The first time Oishi learned what a healer did, he was four years old. He had tripped on a rock and scabbed his knee. It hurt and the blood scared him, so Oishi cried until his uncle came to him and took him inside. Cleaning the wound hurt, but his uncle kept talking to him, telling him how brave he was, and Oishi could pretend it didn't hurt too badly, dangling his other leg over the examination table. Good ten minutes had passed before Oishi noticed that the pain was gone. He looked up at his uncle's smiling face, wide-eyed, and thought healing must be the Magic he had only heard about.

The first time Oishi realized he could do the same, he was eight. His little sister had fallen off a tree while they were playing together. Oishi rushed to her side, but could not stop her tears, or her elbow from bleeding. Close to tears himself, Oishi hugged her, wishing with all his might his sister would stop hurting. He did not realize his sister had stopped crying until she called his name. Oishi opened his eyes, and realized his hands were glowing, and so was his sister's elbow. There was no blood.

When his uncle heard about this, he was both happy and proud. "You have the gift of healing, Syuuichirou. I was beginning to think I was the only one in the family."

Oishi did not really know what this gift of healing was supposed to be, but his uncle looked pleased, so he smiled back. What he understood was that somehow he had made his sister feel better. It felt nice to help someone like that. When his uncle started giving him lessons about how he can help other people feel better, he paid attention and tucked every word in his memory.

The first time Oishi lost a patient, he was nine. The goldfish he kept in a small bowl in his room had gotten sick, and despite his best efforts, he found it floating belly up in the bowl one morning. He rushed to his uncle's house, carrying the bowl carefully with both hands, and implored his uncle to help the goldfish, but his uncle gave him a sad look and shook his head.

"I can't do anything for him. I'm sorry, Syuuichirou."

"But you can help anyone," Oishi insisted, "Like the lady yesterday. She was really hurt, but you made her all better."

His uncle looked even sadder, and struck by the seriousness of his uncle's expression, Oishi fell silent.

"Syuuichirou, no matter how talented one is at healing, there are some people one cannot save." His uncle took both his hands, gazing at him kindly. "Your gift is far greater than mine. When you grow up, you will help many people, and save many lives," his uncle paused, "But there will be some you cannot help. You can't stop death. No one can." His uncle laid a warm hand on his head. "And there are some sicknesses you can't heal with any herbs, or the gift."

"What kind of sickness is that?" Oishi asked curiously.

"The sickness of the heart," his uncle answered with a sad smile. "You will understand when you grow older."

Oishi did not understand; not then. Nonetheless, he remembered his uncle's words, like he did everything else.

The first time Oishi's other gift manifested, he was twelve years old. His uncle was with him when the herb storeroom caught fire. The dry herbs burned up quickly -- the rare ones, even those indispensable for making salves and potions. There was a well just outside the storage room, and if only they could bring water from the well quickly, they could still stop the fire from spreading. Oishi looked outside the window, his entire thoughts focused on it, and suddenly a column of water swelled and flew out of the well and into the room, drenching the fire in an instant. His uncle and he looked at each other, shocked.

"You are full of surprises, aren't you, Syuuichirou?" his uncle smiled when he said this. They spent the rest of the morning laying out the salvaged herbs to dry. That afternoon, his uncle took him to the Mage living in the neighborhood, whom the village children called "the old witch." She was an eccentric and formidable woman, with a sly, knowing smile and a sarcastic upturn of eyebrows. Despite her age she was quite agile, and the children who played little tricks on her soon learned to be prepared for retaliation in kind. Not that it stopped them from trying again, and the old Mage seemed entertained enough to let them continue.

When she saw him, she gave him a shrewd once-over, asked his uncle a few questions, then nodded.

"I'll take him," said the Mage with an evil look that made Oishi gulp and take a hasty step backward. She just laughed, and Oishi wondered exactly what he had gotten himself into.

By the time Oishi turned nineteen, he had learned much about healing and Magic, and had come to regard his uncle and his mentor with great respect. Beyond the technical knowledge of healing and Magic, they instilled in him the true meaning of being a healer and a Mage. But soon, Oishi grew dissatisfied with the simple spells and basic theories of Magic he had mastered. When he carefully brought up the subject of Elementals, his mentor gave him a fond look.

"Of the handful of children I taught in my time, none could hold a candle to your talent. I think you might be able to master Elemental Magic, given the right direction. But you'll need to ask for help from the Cetera." Mage Ryuzaki’s expression was rueful. "No matter what our history may be with the Cetera, there is no question their Magic is powerful. And they understand more about Magic than any other race. And you know the usage of Magic is strictly regulated for Human Mages. To learn Elemental Magic, you'll need Cetera certification, anyway."

With these words, his mentor sent him off to the City of Moltania, where there was a major temple dedicated to the Exalted Nine, run by the Cetera priests. However, Oishi never had a chance to meet them.

Almost as soon as he reached Moltania, he was lost in the large city. After a few hours of new sights and sounds, he found himself in a small tavern on the remote edge of the city, hoping someone there could direct him to the temple. And there, Oishi met Fuji Syuusuke for the first time.

Oishi initially approached Fuji because the other seemed the closest to his age, and hopefully more sympathetic to his cause than other city-hardened folk who barely spared him a glance. When Fuji heard his story, he was silent for a long time, studying Oishi closely.

"So you want to see the Cetera Mages to learn how to work with the Elementals," Fuji said finally. Oishi nodded.

"I want to become a good Mage. Good enough to use the Elemental Magic."

Fuji gave him another long look, then nodded. "You seem like a nice young man. But you're looking in the wrong place."

"What do you mean?" Oishi asked, surprised.

"Oh, the Cetera know very much about the Elementals. But they won't teach you," Fuji murmured, idly playing with his mug. "How good are you?"

"I don't really know. My mentor told me I might be able to master Elemental Magic," Oishi answered modestly.

"And do you know that even among the Cetera, only the most powerful even have a prayer of mastering Elemental Magic?" Fuji asked, not unkindly, but truthfully.

"I want to find out if I have a chance," Oishi answered.

Fuji exhaled slowly. "This is important to you."

"Yes," Oishi answered truthfully.

"May I ask why?" Fuji asked softly.

"My village is in West Hyrrha. We've been having poor harvests for many years, because of the irregular rainfall. I don't know what else could help."

"So you want to bond with an Elemental Water, I suppose?" Oishi nodded. "That would probably work, but there's a better way."

Oishi blinked, and Fuji chuckled softly. Looking at Fuji earnestly, Oishi entreated. "Could you tell me, please?"

Fuji finished his drink, and rose. "Come, then."

Something about Fuji's smile, as charming as it was, felt strange, _frozen_. Oishi trusted his own instincts about people, and Fuji did not feel like an evil person, but there were depths to the smiling face he couldn't even begin to fathom, and it made him uneasy. Fuji looked back at him, as if sensing his hesitation, and the smile melted away to reveal vivid, frosty blue eyes. The eyes asked a simple question: how much are you willing to risk for what you want?

Oishi Syuuichirou never did things halfway.

So Oishi rose and followed Fuji, under the haze of summer sun, all the way to a barren field far away from Human presence. The sun-bleached earth beneath his feet was hot and rich red-gold.

"The problem with West Hyrrha isn't just the rainfall, but that the soil is left completely unprotected," Fuji suddenly began, and Oishi started, his attention snapping back to Fuji. "The top soil is thin, and the ground, flat. There is nothing to stop the erosion of the top soil." Fuji paused and looked at him with a serious expression. "What could solve that problem?"

"Umm..." Oishi hesitated, then remembered the forest near his home village, the green, moss-covered earth. "Trees?"

"Correct. However, West Hyrrha cultivates every plot of available land for farming, so that is not a practical solution."

"But that cannot be helped, right?" Oishi inquired.

"It could be," Fuji said with a knowing smile. "If the soil protects itself."

"What?"

"Nature has its own system of maintaining itself. Look at a forest, a lake, or a mountain. They are able to sustain a certain environment suited for the living without outside help," Fuji explained.

"But how can farmlands do the same?" Oishi was _really_ not following Fuji's line of reasoning.

"Simple. We have to...wake them up," Fuji replied with a wink, and sank to his knees, placing a hand on the warm, golden earth. Fuji closed his eyes and was silent for a moment, and an astonished Oishi watched the water seep under Fuji's palm, wetting the soil.

"You can use Elemental Magic," Oishi said. In hindsight, he probably should have guessed. Fuji looked up at him and smiled.

"I can communicate with both Water and Fire. Water responds to me, which is why you see this," Fuji gestured to the wet spot on earth, which was already beginning to dry in the fierce sunlight. "But I couldn't do this if the soil, which holds the water, did not help me." Fuji rose to his feet, looking into Oishi's face intently. "You can try to bond with the Elemental Water, if you'd like, but in truth, what would help you the most is the Elemental Earth."

"But isn't Earth the hardest Elemental to master?"

"Yes," Fuji confirmed. "Earth is proud, seldom moved, difficult to communicate with, and requires great patience and kindness. But once Earth bonds to you, it will be loyal to the end of its days, even after your death. Earth is the most giving of the Elementals."

"But..." Oishi hesitated. "What if I can't control it?"

"You don't control the Elementals," Fuji pointed out with a short laugh. "You bond to them, and master their Magic with them. But you don't control them." Fuji held out a hand, and instantly, moisture gathered in the air, solidifying to small chunks of crystalline ice. Fuji watched fondly as the ice melted into water, swirling around his hand. Turning his gaze to Oishi, Fuji asked seriously. "Are you ready for your first lesson?"

"You will teach me?" Oishi asked, just to be sure. This was almost too good to be true.

"Yes, but..." Fuji trailed off. "Can you keep it a secret?" he asked with a conspiratorial smile.

"Why?"

"Because the Cetera don't like it when a Mage teaches someone who isn’t his official pupil," Fuji answered neutrally, but Oishi thought he saw a glint of something in Fuji's eyes.

"You're a Cetera?"

"Something like that," Fuji answered carelessly. "Ready?"

Six years later, after an intensive training in the uninhabited wilderness of Hessedi, Oishi bonded with an Elemental: Earth.

(It would be decades later that Oishi, while studying further Magical theories, realized that the methods Fuji used to tame to communicate with the Elementals were nowhere to be found in any books written by Cetera. Fuji wasn't using any Magic he shouldn't, but _how_ he was using it was beyond Oishi's understanding. Fuji had taught him to do the same, and he had to admit Fuji's way was much more efficient, but his Magic operated on a different level from any of the known theories.)

A little after Oishi successfully bonded with his Elemental, Fuji stopped giving him lessons, telling him he knew all he needed to know to continue on his own. Oishi found that Fuji was right. Then, less than a decade later, Fuji pronounced Oishi ready for the Cetera certification test. Just before he left to take the examination, Fuji gave him a mischievous smile, and said simply, "Go easy on them."

So he did.

At age thirty-four, Oishi Syuuichirou became a Cetera-certified Mage, Class One -- the first Human to achieve the feat in three hundred years.


	10. Pairwise, 02. Kikumaru - Red Threads of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of the backstory subarc, Pairwise. How Oishi and Eiji met. This part of the story takes place 25 years before the main storyline begins. Rated G for this part. Subtitled “Red Threads of Fate.” 2,568 words.

  
_**Et Cetera: Pairwise**_ by _Shiraume_  


**02\. Kikumaru - Red Threads of Fate**

He has very few memories of his mother.

In some of them, she's telling him how much she loves him, and how precious he is to her. She always looks sad in those memories, her voice quiet and sweet. In the last memory of his mother, there are tears in her eyes as she murmurs to him.

"You're a good child, Eiji, so you will be all right. You will be all right, even without mama," his mother whispers, but then her voice breaks, and she holds him tighter. He does not say anything, just stays in the warm circle of her arms, the side of his face pressed against her breast, listening to her irregular heartbeats.

He never finds out what happened to his mother.

In the small rural town of Mirhea, growing up as a stray is not difficult. It's a small village, and the folks are friendly. Most of the families are willing to feed an extra mouth once or twice a week, and to spare some hand-down clothes that their own children have outgrown. The young mothers enjoy teaching him how to cook, and are especially charmed when he helps around the house. The husbands are also indulgent with him, but he is really the wives' favorite.

Nevertheless, one of the first things he learns, even before he learns to read, is that he cannot depend on the kindness of others if he wants to survive. Instead, he learns how to get what he needs, whether by his own effort, trading, charming, or wheedling.

All his life, he knows he's different. Everyone in the small village knows him, and has long since accepted him the way they accept the turn of seasons, the dark, rich earth under their feet, the forbidding presence of the Eastern Greenwood, and the gleaming ridges of White Mountains. His presence is something unquestioned for the villagers, even when he remains a teenager long after the young mothers' children grow and have children of their own. But whenever strangers come to town, he hides in the forest or the lower valleys of White Mountains; his vivid red hair and red eyes are unmistakable, and his appearance gives him away even before his natural grace or startling flexibility and speed. No matter how high the fall, he always lands on his feet, for which the villagers tease him; good-naturedly, but it's still another reminder he does not truly belong.

The once-young mothers are now grandmothers with grown grandchildren, and they are still fond of him as ever, like a pet no one asked for but is adorable enough that nobody minds keeping. It is about this time another stranger visits the village: a Mage from a large city to help stop the sickness spreading across several villages. He is curious, of course; curiosity has always been a part of his nature. But he is not curious enough to wait and see what this stranger makes of him, so he goes off to his favorite playing spot on the mountainside.

Late afternoon, he is taking a nap amidst the wildflowers in the lower valley when he senses someone's presence nearby. He soundlessly springs to his feet, and is shocked to find that someone standing right behind him; no one has ever been able to sneak up on him this close without him noticing. This one is a young man with a funny hairstyle and eyes as green as the summer grass. What interests him, though, is that there is no surprise or invasive curiosity in his eyes.

"Ah, forgive me for disturbing you," the young man says mildly. "I didn't want to wake you, but I really need to get the biethel growing here."

"Sure," he replies, and the young man smiles at him gratefully before crouching down to collect several roots of biethel. "There are better ones growing higher up," he offers after a minute, "if you follow that marked path for another twenty minutes."

"Oh! Thank you so much for telling me," the young man beams. "Good biethel is difficult to find, where I come from."

He frowns slightly. "It's a common weed in any mountain."

The young man smiles, and explains. "Biethel is a very important herb for potions and salves, but it only grows in the sunny mountain range. I was born in the Village of Caesis, in West Hyrrha."

"Oh," he says, but doesn't know what that means. He has never been outside Mirhea, and doesn't even know where West Hyrrha is, except it's far in the west, beyond the River Colcis.

If the young man notices his confusion, he does not say anything. "It's a small village, and the Southern Greenwood is between the village and White Mountains. It takes several days to make the trip, and there's only so much I can carry, you see." The young man straightens. "Thank you for you help, ah -- " he flushes a little. "Forgive my manners. I am Oishi Syuuichirou."

"Eiji," he says slowly. "Kikumaru Eiji." Kikumaru is the surname the neighbors gave him when he was little, and he thinks it may have been his father's. "You can call me Eiji," he adds. No one ever calls anyone by the last name in the village, except in legal contracts, so it's a very natural thing to say. But Oishi blinks.

"Oh, ah. I see," Oishi stutters and blushes rather cutely. "Please call me, um, Oishi."

He shrugs, becoming increasingly puzzled when Oishi's discomfort does not abate. Oishi finally stammers he has to go collect more herbs, and thanks him again before continuing on his way, leaving him to stare after Oishi in confusion. Moments later, he shrugs and settles down to resume his nap, but sleep eludes him. Frustrated, he goes into the forest.

The Eastern Greenwood is not a friendly place. The children of Mirhea, as soon as they can walk, are warned to keep clear of the forest. That never keeps him out, however – it's the only place he feels at home. He thinks it might have something to do with his mother, whose memory is always linked to smell of fresh leaves and rustle of dry grass.

He finds his favorite tree and curls up on one of the branches near the top. Up this high, the only intruders are birds, so he can safely take a nap. After at least half an hour of fidgeting, he finally falls asleep, and continues his nap in peace until a shrill whistle of birdcall startles him. Momentarily forgetting where he is, he jumps up, and promptly unbalances himself. Quickly he twists and readies himself to grab a bow and vault himself back on a sturdier branch, as he has done countless times. Before he can do that, vines close around his body with nary a whisper and catches him midair, and he forgets all about his plans. When the vines lower him to the ground, he is still too shocked to speak, but one thought rings through his head. _Magic_.

"Are you all right?"

He looks at the intruder -- Oishi -- and at the leaf-green eyes, and his heart skips a beat. "I can take care of myself," he says testily, annoyed at Oishi for probably having caused the bird to call and startle him in the first place, or something.

Oishi, to his surprise, lets out an embarrassed laugh. "Yes, I know. When I saw you fall, I just reacted without thinking."

"You _know_?" Oishi does not know him, or that he can jump from a thirty-foot tree and land on his feet unharmed. How can he? They just met today.

"Yes, of course. You are one of the Chisu."

"What's a Chisu?" he asks curiously. Oishi is quiet for a moment, surprised. He decides he really likes Oishi's eyes. They show everything: surprise, happiness, embarrassment -- everything.

"Chisu are Sprites that live in the forest," Oishi explains. "They can take the form of a Human or a large mountain cat, although their distinct eye and hair colors set them apart. They are graceful and shy, preferring to stay deep within the forest. Excellent climbers, and most use the trees to hide or to sleep."

"I'm a Chisu," he says, and Oishi nods. "Is that why I'm different from everyone else?"

Oishi nods. "Vivid red eyes probably come from your Chisu side of the family. And your hair."

Chisu side of the family...? "You know I'm a half-Chisu and half-Human." It is not a question. He's always known his father was human, someone from the village, a long time ago. But how does Oishi know?

"I've met Chisu before, once," Oishi says. "They carry a unique Magical signature, which I don't feel from you."

"Oh." So he does not belong with the Chisu, either. Less than five minutes after finding his other people, he has already lost them. "...I see."

"Is something the matter?" Oishi asks kindly, and he frowns at the concern in Oishi's eyes. Oishi is a stranger – well, not quite a stranger now but close, but something about Oishi's honest gaze makes him want to trust him.

"Fine," he says, and is both warmed and annoyed when Oishi's smile turns understanding, looking more like an older brother. "You came here to do something, right?" he asks pointedly, and Oishi blinks.

"Oh, yes, I did. Thank you for reminding me." Oishi sounds so sincere, he almost regrets being annoyed. Oishi smiles again, and pulls out a flower. "Here, take some heartease. I think I took too many today. They always help me sleep better."

"...Thanks," he replies, accepting the handful of pale pink flowers. Oishi smiles at him before disappearing deeper into the forest. It is not until Oishi is gone from the sight that he realizes Oishi must be the Mage visiting his village.

When the evening falls, he makes his way back to the village, and sneaks into the village's only inn, to the east-side room that no one ever takes. He does this whenever he comes back late and doesn't want to disturb anyone. The innkeeper is fond of him, as is his plump, good-natured wife, and they always welcome him, but he still makes it a point to help out in the inn the next day.

Tonight, though, he's in for a surprise. As soon as he opens the window and slips inside, fire appears out of nowhere, lighting up the room, and to his surprise, Oishi is standing near the bed, the flame dancing over his open palm.

"Oishi," he says, surprised.

"Eiji," Oishi says, equally surprised.

They both laugh. Oishi tells him about his journey to Mirhea, and he tells Oishi about his life in the village. They spend the most of the night talking, and eventually fall asleep in the room together. The next morning he tags along when Oishi goes to examine the patients, and to their great relief, it is not the epidemic that has been spreading through the surrounding villages. Oishi's potions and salves are very effective, and where those fail, his gift of healing readily assists him.

Sometimes, when he watches Oishi focused and intent, he feels an irrational urge to step between Oishi and his work, so the green eyes would focus on _him_ and only him, but those impulses are few and far in between. One evening, he comes over to Oishi's room, and just outside the door, hears another voice in the room.

"...picking up strays again, aren't you, Oishi? Every time you are away..." The voice is soft with an amused lilt, and he frowns.

"That's not it," Oishi protests, and he can imagine exactly what expression Oishi would have on his face. There is a pause, then Oishi speaks again. "He seems happy here. The villagers are fond of him." It hits him then that Oishi and the stranger are talking about _him_. He narrows his eyes and steps closer to the door to listen. "I never expected any place could be this accepting to a half-Sprite. It's a very encouraging sign." He frowns. It never occurred to him that aside from the annoying, curious stares, other people might not be so accepting about those like him.

"So, when do I get to see your stray kitten?" the voice asks, amusement clearer in the tone.

"Fuji!"

His impatience gets better of him, and he opens the door without knocking, but stops short at the threshold. Where is the person Oishi was speaking to?

"Eiji," Oishi says, mildly surprised. "Did you need me for something?"

"I, um," he stammers in response. "I just wanted to see you," he blurts out, regretting the words the moment they leave his mouth. Oishi looks half flustered and half pleased, and they spend the next few seconds smiling at each other awkwardly until the mirror speaks, drawing both their attention to it.

"Oishi, aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

He blinks at the talking mirror, which has a face in it. It is a young face, about Oishi's age, with a pleasant smile and measuring eyes. Oishi murmurs an apology, moving aside so the young man in the mirror has a clearer view of him.

"Fuji, meet Eiji. Eiji, this is Fuji," Oishi says, indicating the young man in the mirror. "He is a good friend of mine."

He finds himself wondering crossly, 'How good a friend?' What he says instead is, "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is entirely mine," Fuji replies with a sparkling friendliness that can only be false. "I do hope I will have a chance to meet you in person in the future." The tone is so laden with meaning that he cannot help wrinkling his nose, although to the side he can see Oishi shrugging good-naturedly.

"In that case, I hope you will be less creepy in person," he retorts back; Fuji's overly cheerful smile is beginning to grate on his nerves. To his displeasure, Fuji's smile does not diminish, although it might have become less artificial.

"It's been lovely speaking to you both, but I'm sure Oishi had an exhausting day. I will leave you to yourselves," Fuji says, and Oishi laughs and bids Fuji good night. As soon as the mirror goes blank, he turns to Oishi.

" _He's_ your _friend_?" he asks, disbelief plain in his tone. It seems unnatural that an open and sweet person like Oishi could be friends with someone so closed and measured. And weird.

"He's been a very good friend to me for many years," Oishi replies firmly. "He has a habit of testing people he meets for the first time, but he isn't a malicious person." He blinks, realizing he has underestimated Oishi. Just because Oishi is kind and trusting, it doesn't make him any less perceptive. "At least that I know. So please refrain from making the same judgment that most people make of Fuji at the first glance," Oishi finishes.

"Why?" he asks, petulant, stung by Oishi's unshakable defense on Fuji's behalf.

"Because you are far too perceptive and kind to make that mistake," Oishi replies without hesitation.

It takes him a moment to process that, and when he does, he cannot help a pleased smile. "Fine." Then, he adds, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Two weeks later, when Oishi leaves Mirhea, Kikumaru Eiji accompanies him to Moltania. He never looks back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cetera-influenced cultures, including Oishi's home village, place a special importance on given names. For the Cetera, Family name is a birthright, but given name is a gift from the parents, an acknowledgment of the child's place in the family and society. Only family members, close friends, or lovers (also, in some cases, mentors and pupils) would call an individual by his given name. Inviting someone to use one's given name is often used as a euphemistic way of expressing a desire for intimate relationship, hence Oishi's embarrassment when Eiji invites him to call him by given name. Eiji's village is relatively uninfluenced by the Cetera culture, and Eiji of course has no idea.
> 
> Chisu have a strong belief in fate. A Chisu legend has it that if two people meet three times in a single day by complete accident, they are fated to be together forever. Many Chisu are known to marry for that reason alone, though Eiji, not having grown up among them, doesn't know about it. The Chisu are famous for having harmonious and happy marriages, so much that when one of the pair dies, the other often follows very shortly.


	11. Pairwise, 03. Oishi & Kikumaru - Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third part of the backstory subarc, Pairwise. 2,526 words. PG for this part for minor character death. Feel free to ignore the long ramble at the end.

  
_**Et Cetera: Pairwise**_ by _Shiraume_  


**03\. Oishi & Kikumaru - Walls**

[Written April 2012 :: Posted January 1, 2014]

Eiji had never been comfortable with walls.

The first difference he noted about the city – Moltania was the name – was not its vast size, but its towering stone walls encasing the city in gray. Those walls did not invite or welcome, but commanded attention, ready to place all who entered in their proper places among the neatly ordered chaos inside. Within the walls of this Cetera-influenced city, he was now known by his barely-familiar last name. _Master Kikumaru_ , everyone called him, except Oishi, who continuously slipped and called him Eiji. If Oishi had also taken to calling him by his last name, he probably would have left that very week.

But city meant comforts. Oishi lived in one of the wealthier districts nestled in the heart of the city, where buildings were beautiful and even had tiny gardens inside. There were marketplaces, big three-story buildings with spacious stalls full of vendors selling everything one could ever need. To Eiji’s delight, city also meant indoor plumbing and hot baths right there in the comfort of their own home. And his own bed, clean soft linen and plush comforter just for him.

And city meant Oishi. His day now began with warm fragrance of morning tea and a cheerful good morning. His morning routines now included trying to keep Oishi out of the kitchen while he cooked, playfully smacking away Oishi’s hand before he stole another piece of cheese for the omelet. Cooking had become Eiji’s exclusive domain the day he arrived, when he realized that Oishi, despite being able to brew two hundred potions from memory, was an utterly unexpected culinary disaster.

So Eiji’s stay stretched on, days turning into weeks, and then to months.

They had never discussed what it meant, Eiji tagging along to the city, living with Oishi. But he’d never been a free-loader even as a child, all but adopted by several families in Mirhea. Besides, he was a fast learner; by the second month, Eiji had learned how to clean and dress wounds, and the basics of healing herbs, balms and potions. And his keen eyesight and sense of smell – superior to that of normal Humans – were immensely useful when it came to medicinal herbs.

Oishi always invited his presence while treating patients, insisting it made the clinic more welcoming. Eiji always thought Oishi hardly needed any help in that, being always so kind and patient. Oishi’s patients placed their absolute trust in him, and always left the clinic smiling.

Three months after Eiji’s arrival, a boy of eleven was brought to the clinic. The boy had been helping his father on a hunt and had an accident with a bear trap. By the time the frantic father burst into the clinic, holding his son in his arms, the child had lost a lot of blood, but was still aware enough to smile when Eiji joked about Oishi’s hairstyle. Oishi stayed with the boy for nearly four hours, and when Eiji switched with him, the boy was sleeping quietly. An hour after midnight, Oishi came in to relieve him.

The next morning, he woke to find Oishi helping the distraught parents arrange for a funeral.

Eiji remembered standing at the foot of the bed. Oishi’s gentle voice. The child’s mother sobbing piteously. But everything felt like a distant noise. The white sheet covering the bed dwarfed the tiny figure underneath. His eyes were hot, his throat burned, and the back of his head ached, but he couldn’t manage single word, not even that he was sorry for their loss. When the undertaker arrived, he had an absurd urge to stand protectively over the bed, to tell him to go away. Instead, he ran upstairs to his own room and slammed the door shut. Everything made him angry, from the open window to unmade bed, and he threw himself down on the chair, pulling up his knees to rest his chin.

“It’s not your fault, Eiji.”

He hadn’t heard Oishi come in. Eiji puckered his lips, irritated. Of course he knew that. What, did Oishi think he was stupid? Eiji tried to glare at Oishi, and was mortified to feel tears prickling his eyes. “I’m fine,” he snapped, viciously rubbing at his eyes. “I know it’s not my fault.”

But when Oishi just held his eyes for a long moment, a frustrated sob escaped him. Oishi’s steps were nearly silent as he crossed the room to lay a warm hand on his shoulder. There was nothing but steady, calm strength in Oishi’s gaze. Tiredly, Eiji sighed and swallowed, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve. “Did you know? That he wouldn’t make it.”

Oishi’s eyes turned pained. He gave a slow nod.

Yet Oishi had tried anyway. Had called on his gift of healing, which Eiji knew Oishi used only as a last resort, because it drained both Oishi and the patient.

“Gift of healing is effective only to a certain point,” Oishi said quietly, as if reading his thoughts.  
“Basically, my gift forces a body to heal at an accelerated rate. But the process strains the body quite a bit. If the wound is too deep, no matter how gifted a healer is, the patient’s body cannot endure healing.”

Something about Oishi’s tone – too clinical, too detached – set off a faint trickle of alarm in his mind, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. He looked up at Oishi, wondering what it was that bothered him. But just then, Oishi’s green eyes melted into the usual warmth, and he forgot what he wanted to ask.

“It’ll be all right, Eiji.”

Oishi’s hand was warm on his shoulder. Soothed by the calm reassurance of Oishi’s voice, he nodded.

Seasons came and went. As Eiji became more used to his life with Oishi, he came to appreciate just how powerful Oishi was, not just as a healer, but as a Mage. The City of Moltania looked to Oishi not only for healing, but also for protection and guidance. The tradition of court Mages had died out when Humans Mages became all but extinct, but Oishi had been the closest thing Moltania had for fifty years. And – it was only after meeting Oishi’s sister that Eiji realized – Oishi was actually older than he was, at least by two decades or so. True, the way Oishi acted so grave and responsible made Eiji feel childish sometimes, even without Oishi saying anything. But anything that made him feel inferior or smaller, even something as silly as age difference, sometimes grated on Eiji’s nerves.

Something about Oishi puzzled him, however. It was very clear he loved his younger sister very much. But the rest of his extended family – nephews and nieces and their children – barely seemed to know Oishi. They treated Oishi with awe and respect, yes, but also with considerable distance. If they had been his own family, it would have bothered Eiji quite a bit, but Oishi didn’t seem to care. In fact, whenever Eiji brought up the subject of his family, Oishi always found something more urgent to discuss, or remembered some errand he had to run.

But their first big fight wasn’t about Oishi’s family. 

On the second winter after Eiji moved to Moltania, when snow covered the whole city like a mantle of gray, they lost a six-year-old patient to pneumatic fever. When Eiji, who’d watched her last moments with the child’s mother, reported to Oishi, there was a pause in Oishi’s movement while he busily prepared the next batch of cough-suppressing potion.

“I see,” was all Oishi said, voice neutral and calm, and his hands were steady while he poured the thick mixture over the cheesecloth. Oishi put two sticks on the gauze and wrapped the gaze around carefully, expertly twisting to squeeze out the brown liquid. “I’ll be right there. Could you get this batch into storage jars? The patients coming in the afternoon will need it.”

Eiji stared at Oishi for a long moment in silence. “Oishi,” Eiji said very slowly. “I said Lyla is dead.”

“I understand, Eiji.” There was no change in the calm, patient tone.

Eiji stood motionless, until Oishi finished putting the bowls away for washing, putting aside the mortar and pestle neatly. Oishi turned questioning gaze to him. “Eiji?” A gentle reminder. “The jars?”

“No. You _don’t_ understand. Lyla’s dead. And you don’t care.”

Something hard flashed behind Oishi’s calm green eyes, but was gone too fast to tell. “It’s not that. But there’s nothing I can do for her anymore. There are others, however, that I can still help.”

The explanation made perfect sense. And it infuriated Eiji, because somehow – he knew for sure, somehow – it was not something his Oishi would say.

“Why did you give her that doll? The one she was holding right until she died? Why were you so nice to her if her death doesn’t mean a damned thing to you?!”

“Because she was my patient.” Oishi’s voice was too quiet when he answered, and only then did Eiji realize he’d been shouting.

“That’s all she ever was to you? Damn it, Oishi, she thought you were her friend! She held out this long for her mom – and for you!”

Oishi’s green eyes no longer resembled summer leaves, but were hard as gemstones. “And I did my best. But I can’t let anything interfere with my efficiency as a healer. My duty is to help those who can be saved. Getting emotional won’t help anyone.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Oishi’s strange, flat calm was draining him of anger, leaving behind only disbelief. “Efficiency— _Duty_ —” A sliver of hurt rekindled his anger, and he screamed his next words. “Damn you, I thought this was more than just a job to you!” At that, Oishi’s eyes flashed, and Eiji wondered fleetingly if Oishi was going to scream back.

Oishi didn’t.

“It is. But I can help more of my patients if I _don’t_ take fifteen minutes after each loss to throw a fit.” His voice was not loud, but so cuttingly precise, Eiji just stared at him while Oishi turned on his heel and left.

Eiji gritted his teeth. The cough-suppressing potion should be bottled before the prolonged exposure to air made it unusable, but he didn’t care. Oishi could brew his stupid potion again since he obviously knew the answer to every question. Stupid Oishi.

That evening, Eiji went out to eat by himself. And for an entire week, the two of them barely spoke to each other except in curt requests or reports about their patients. By the time weekend came, Eiji was frustrated enough to go out drinking with a few of the friends he’d made at Moltania. The fifth drink for the evening quite convinced him this was the life he should have been living in the city, and Eiji ended up staying out all night. And the next day. And the day after.

On the fourth evening, when Eiji came back in desperate need for a change of clothing, it was a neighbor who told him in hushed tones that Oishi was not home, but at his sister’s house, arranging for a funeral.

“What funeral?” Eiji asked, then it hit him. “Oh. Oh no.”

The neighbor nodded. “His sister – well, when she fell ill two days ago, they knew it was a matter of time. She was eighty-three. At least she passed away painlessly in her sleep. Master Oishi’s been there since yesterday.”

Oishi’s sister. Dead. She was the only family member Oishi had left, the only one who loved Oishi as Oishi Syuuichirou, not the Mage and the healer.

Without another word, Eiji dashed upstairs to change. When he arrived at Oishi’s sister’s house, it was already quite late. Oishi was alone in his sister’s room, sitting by the bed like a statue made of stone. Eiji remembered her laughter, her twinkling eyes that belied her advanced age, her humor, her _life_. He had only known her for a short time, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her being reduced to this cold little bundle covered in white sheet.

“Hey,” Eiji called softly.

Oishi’s head shot up, and the green eyes widened in disbelief. “Eiji.” Oishi stood up as he walked to him, and Eiji winced; Oishi looked like he hadn’t slept for a few days, and without Eiji around, probably nobody reminded him to eat, either.

“I’m sorry,” Eiji said. _For your sister. For not being here._ “I’m so sorry, Oishi.”

Oishi’s sudden lunge startled him, but Eiji caught him reflexively as Oishi collapsed. “Eiji,” Oishi whispered, voice muffled against Eiji’s shoulder. “Eiji,” he repeated, arms tightening enough to drive the breath out of him.

“Oishi – too tight.” Eiji squeaked, but he was secretly pleased. Before, Oishi, being so reserved and proper, wouldn’t even hold his hand, let alone embrace him.

“Sorry.” Oishi slackened his grip, but not by much. Hearing the stutter of Oishi’s breath, reading the gratitude and relief in Oishi’s trembling shoulders, Eiji was so glad he’d come back in time. “You...won’t leave?” Oishi asked, and the sudden fear in his rough voice caught Eiji by surprise.

During all their time together, Oishi had never reacted to his patients’ deaths. And Eiji had assumed it was because Oishi didn’t fear death anymore, being an ageless Mage. Or hardened by his long years as a healer. But that wasn’t why, after all. Oishi _was_ afraid. Not of death, perhaps, but of losing people. That was the reason behind Oishi’s strange distance from his extended family and all of his patients: if he had no one important, then he couldn’t lose anyone important.

And Eiji was all he had left, now.

“No,” Eiji declared fiercely. “Never.”

As years passed, Eiji continued to sound out the shape and strength of the walls around Oishi’s heart. Somewhere along the way, so that each death did not cut into his soul, Oishi had locked parts of himself away. Else, how could someone so kind and compassionate remain so detached from other people? Oishi was open and tolerant to everyone, but accepted no one inside his heart. By being meticulously fair to everyone, he kept them at an arm’s length from him. But those invisible walls, impregnable as they seemed, weren’t perfect. Simply by the virtue of long acquaintance, Fuji already had a passage through those walls. And Oishi genuinely feared losing him: that thought was enough to keep Eiji from blowing his fuse at the layers of cotton wool Oishi continuously tried to wrap around him like a protective shield. He wasn’t a child Oishi had to protect, damn it, he was Oishi’s partner. And Oishi was going to learn that, one way or another.

Fortunately, he also had time on his side. Oishi had helped him research the Chisu, and by all accounts Eiji would have several times the lifespan of a normal Human, as would Oishi. Eiji might be impatient in daily affairs, but he knew how to be patient when it really counted.

He was Kikumaru Eiji. He wasn’t going to stop until he won. Oishi wouldn’t know what hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m ringing in the new year 2014 with an update for _**Et Cetera**_. And this one comes with a confession: this is the backstory that took 5 years to complete. Not a joke; it drove me absolutely nuts for that long. And – more to the point – this is the very story whose failure to materialize prompted the whole story being taken down from archives back in 2009. The problem lay in chapter 3, a Golden Pair chapter. The dynamics between Oishi and Eiji in that chapter were too different from the other two backstories, as a friend pointed out back in 2006. That was actually the entirety of Cetera in a nutshell. In the main story the characters would react in certain ways that did not make any sense in that context because – duh – I’d never actually gone back and explained where they were coming from. And every one of the characters came with a full backstory that I simply had no time to incorporate in the main storyline. So I started writing backstories, but even with those, it hit a point where I simply couldn’t manage. So I took down the whole project instead. But that bothered me. Personally, I hate, absolutely _HATE_ unfinished fics. And Cetera was FINISHED, damn it, and I was going to see it fully posted if that was the last thing I ever did. So I tried again and...ran into the same problem.
> 
> So in April 2012, exactly five years after I first started the backstory “Walls,” I gave myself an ultimatum. Either I finish this story somehow or I admit defeat, give up on the whole project, and live with my shame. I did finish. Perhaps not quite to my satisfaction, but finished. And after dry spell of maybe two years, I was able to write again. Then, near the end of 2013, I became very worried that Cetera was not going to finish its posting run even in 2014 at this rate, and did I mention _**Et Cetera**_ was born in November of 2004? Ten years, for crying out loud.
> 
> So this is my new year’s fic-resolution: I’m going to do my best to get this story fully posted by the tenth-year anniversary. Wish me luck!
> 
> Happy new year, everyone!!


	12. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be released a few days ago. Out of all chapters, this chapter was supposed to require very little revision.
> 
> This was not a revision. This was a near-complete re-write.
> 
> Here we go, at last: Chapter 3!
> 
> \-- _Jan 15, 2014_

'Sí do mhaimeo í, 'sí do mhaimeo í  
'Sí do mhaimeo í cailleach an airgid  
'Sí do mhaimeo í ó Bhail' Iorrais Mhóir í  
'S chuir-feadh sí cóistí 'r bhóithre Chois Fharraige

'Measann tú 'bpósfa, 'measann tú 'bpósfa  
'Measann tú 'bpósfa cailleach an airgid?  
Tá 's a'm nach 'bpósfa, tá 's a'm nach 'bpósfa  
Mar tá sé ró-óg 'gus dólfadh sé'n t-airgead

\-- from _Sí Do Mhaimeó Í_  
 ** __**

**_Et Cetera_ **

****

**Chapter 3**

[Written February 2006 :: Revised January 2014]

Kikumaru wrinkled his nose in distaste, examining his dust-covered traveling boots. “How long until the next village?”

Oishi had to hold back a smile. Kikumaru harbored a cat's fondness for cleanliness. Not being able to bathe every day was probably bothering him. He wondered if it was Kikumaru's Chisu heritage or just a personal quirk. “Not very long,” Oishi said soothingly, and handed him the water skin. They were so attuned to each other's needs and wants, they hardly needed to say it aloud. “It would have been fine if you decided to stay in Moltania.”

Kikumaru didn't even deign with a response, taking a long draught from the water skin. With a sigh of relish, he took another sip, long eyelashes casting soft shadows over the half-closed eyes. After a moment of watching Kikumaru's pale throat, Oishi looked away, at the sun drawing close to the western horizon. Perhaps, if they hurried, they would get to the village before sunset. It'd spare them the need to camp out by the roadside for another night. “Why do you have to take so many trips to the back of beyond anyway? You get more than enough work in the city," Kikumaru said, wiping his mouth.

“There has been unrest—”

“—Since that great column of light a week ago. Tell me something I don’t know. You’d make your trips all the same.” Oishi accepted back the water skin automatically, and allowed himself a tiny smile at the pout Kikumaru had on his mouth. On anyone else, the expression would have looked ridiculous, but on his partner, he couldn't help thinking it was cute.

“There are only so many people I can help in the city,” Oishi said quietly, turning his attention back to more serious problems at hand. “For every person I help inside the city walls, there are ten more outside that need help outside but don’t receive any.”

Kikumaru looked away, still looking unsatisfied, but Oishi knew he wouldn't dispute the point. Despite all his grumblings, Kikumaru had always supported his effort to help others. A moment later, Kikumaru let out a sigh and changed subject, as Oishi knew he would. “Only a couple days’ travel away from Moltania, and there isn’t even a road big enough for dog-carts.” Away from the cities, away from the civilizing influence of Cetera, there was poverty, country folks struggling for their living. These people probably did not care for the complicated city politics in Moltania, or the three-way tug-of-war among Ketys, Brinwold, and Cetera for power. All around them, the once rich, dark land was becoming harsh with increasingly frequent droughts. How was his hometown, Caesis, faring these days? He hadn't visited in a while. He really should make an effort to visit more regularly. And Kikumaru's hometown, too. The little village of Mirhea meant a lot to Kikumaru.

Kikumaru's hand on his elbow brought him back to here and now. "Shall we go?" his partner asked, and Oishi nodded, flashing him a reassuring smile. Once upon a time, even a casual touch like this one would have startled him, so unaccustomed as he'd become to a physical contact initiated by someone else. The last person who'd been so physically comfortable around him had been his sister, who'd passed away years ago. But since then, Kikumaru had become...comfortable. Kikumaru's touch was familiar, comforting, and never unwelcome. A good thing -- Kikumaru seemed to need physical contact like the air he breathed.

When they arrived at the small village made of maybe thirty houses, they found it in the middle of some kind of festival. Village children were running through the narrow streets, screams of laughter ringing behind them. The sun still hung above the horizon, but the fire was already burning high in the middle of the town square. Maidens dressed in their best frocks chattered like a flock of colorful birds. Oishi cocked his head, realizing the villagers weren’t using the common language. Their words had the same rolling vowels that often graced Kikumaru’s speech.

“They’re speaking in old Hyrrha tongue. Just like in Mirhea," Kikumaru said without turning. His wistful eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before him. Oishi smiled a private smile; despite Kikumaru’s numerous protestations that he far preferred the city life (the better to keep good hygiene with, he said), Oishi knew he still missed his hometown. Really, they should plan a visit to Mirhea within the year. It was past due.

"I hope they speak the common language, too. Or I'm going to need you the whole time." Oishi's hometown, Caesis, was in West Hyrrha and spoke only the common language -- the standard language of Cetera -- which was also the official language for both Brinwold and Ketys. But some parts of Hyrrha, where older traditions still ruled everyday life, spoke only the old Hyrrha dialect.

Well. It was called a dialect. In reality the old Hyrrha language was more of a different language altogether. Once upon a time, possibly it shared a common ancestor with the common tongue. But now the two were mutually incomprehensible and have been for over at least three hundred years. Oishi understood maybe half a dozen words Kikumaru taught him, and that was about it.

"Yeah, well, who cares about stupid Cetera language anyway?"

"Eiji?" Kikumaru had a curious distaste for anything Cetera, which Oishi found baffling. Even Kikumaru's friendship with Fuji and adoration for Echizen didn't seem to affect it. While neither Brinwold nor Ketys much appreciated Cetera's involvement with their affairs, they had, out of necessity, adopted many of Cetera's customs, including spoken and written language. In fact it was rare to hear the original Hyrrha dialect at all in West Hyrrha. But parts of Hyrrha, despite being part of Brinwold the same as West Hyrrha, clung to its old ways and refused to abandon its original language, and Kikumaru, hailing from Hyrrha, preferred the confusing and lovely language to the common tongue. At times, it made him feel as if he and Kikumaru came from two different worlds.

In his distraction, at first Oishi didn’t notice Kikumaru wasn’t at his side anymore. When he did notice, Kikumaru was having a lively conversation with a matronly woman, who clasped Kikumaru’s arm like they’d known each other all their life. When her kindly gaze settled on him, Oishi, mildly flustered, shifted on his feet. Kikumaru had been speaking in Hyrrha dialect, which he did not understand, and he felt very much out of place. Excluded. Smiling, the woman waved for him to join them.

“Oishi, what’s the matter? Come join us.” Kikumaru walked over to grab Oishi’s hand and lead him towards the villagers. “They’re having their annual festival for good harvest. Mirhea used to do the same thing,” Kikumaru informed him excitedly. The men were checking and tuning instruments of various shapes and sizes. Traditional Hyrrha instruments, and perhaps some native only to the area, Oishi guessed; he didn't recognize some of them at all.

A man’s voice called out from the drum section, and a chorus of laughing voices from their audience answered. A drum took up a quick and driving beat, and another joined, then another, until all drums were sounding together like quick, stamping feet. Then, a lone voice joined them, adding a lilting tune to the rhythm.

Oishi found himself looking at a pretty maiden in white, her matching ribbon striking against her dark hair, her voice rising and falling like a swift stream. Soon, the villagers joined their voices to hers. The drumbeats never faltered even as the voices stopped and a fiddle took over, reprising the melody. As if chasing the melody of the fiddle, the maiden’s voice started again, accompanied by the villagers, and her voice, rising above the wall of sound about her, rang like a silvery bell over the thundering beat of the drum, the wail of the fiddle, and the booming voices of the villagers.

“What’s the song about?” It must be the drums, Oishi decided. The drumbeats made him feel almost giddy, swept along by the celebratory mood, and made him want to sing with them. The villagers were moving into smaller groups around the fire, laughing and dancing to the sound of the fiddle, and he had the most absurd urge to go join them.

“They said it's an old folk song,” Kikumaru explained, smiling widely with a childlike joy, his eyes sparkling, enchanted. “They’re asking if the handsome young man will marry the rich old hag.” Kikumaru laughed, an unconsciously innocent sound that was irresistibly infectious. “She’s your granny, she’s your granny, the hag with the money,” he chanted in time with the fading drumbeats, chuckling. Next song started, this one slower and more suitable for dancing, and the shy, awkward youths and blushing, giggling maidens were coming together in pairs to dance. Laughter was all around.

“D’you reckon he’d marry the hag with the money?” Kikumaru asked in a singsong voice, and Oishi grinned, getting an all-too-clear image of a toothless grandmother courting a handsome youth a third her age. “Come on, let’s dance.”

“I don’t –”

“—Dance, I know,” Kikumaru rolled his eyes at him. “And you don’t drink, either.” Oishi blushed, remembering the first time Kikumaru had dragged him out to “relax and have fun,” and they had both gotten very drunk. Kikumaru made a very friendly, giggly drunk, and Oishi had found out the hard way that _he_ was an emotional drunk. Kikumaru had never missed a chance to tease him about the incident ever since. And had jumped at every available opportunity to drag him out and get him drunk. Before he could protest again, he found himself drawn along to the center of the square with the other dancers.

Nearly tripping over his own feet was worth it to hear Kikumaru laugh. His partner, a pretty maiden in pale blue, giggled and caught him. Unlike his own pathetic attempt at dancing, Kikumaru, preternaturally graceful, drew admiring glances. Oishi laughed with her, apologized to her, and gamely stayed for the entire dance before begging off to watch Kikumaru dance. Flash of vivid red hair was like flame amidst the villagers, and Kikumaru's red eyes were shining. Sparkling, like stars appearing one by one in the darkening sky. And he was laughing. Laughing like a child he must had been once, before he was alone and had to take care of himself, had to be an adult under a child's skin.

The mixture of tenderness and pride no longer caught him by surprise. And Oishi knew Kikumaru's laughter would stay with him a long time afterward.

**********

The next day was hectic, as if the relaxed happiness of the festival only the night before had never been. There was no healer in the surrounding five villages, and news traveled fast within the tight-knit group of villages that traded with one another every other day. Eager customers swarmed Oishi seeking remedies for everything from fever to broken bones and chronic illnesses. Kikumaru was busy as usual helping Oishi mix and dispatch appropriate herbs and potions, as well as doubling as a translator for the older folks who didn’t speak the common language at all. It was not until well past dinnertime that he finally found some time to explore the neighborhood.

Unlike the city, the night in rural village was lit only by the stars. Kikumaru, thanks to his Sprite heritage, had always possessed much better night vision than Humans and Cetera. He had little trouble navigating to the edge of the village, where the forest started. Just shy of the forest, his keen sense of hearing picked out snatches of angry words and a small cry of pain, and instantly he was off and running. Under the dark shadows of trees, he saw a group cornering a small form curled up against a tree trunk.

“Hey! What are you doing there?” His sharp call had the desired effect, and the group jumped. After a moment of confusion, the three boys ran, leaving behind the small huddled form. With a sigh, Kikumaru approached. “Are you alright?”

A pair of luminous silver eyes looked back at him, and he started. “I’m fine,” she said softly. Her hair was dark, but it made her shimmering white skin and silver eyes look even more striking, and definitely _not_ Human. She pulled herself to her feet and dusted off. "Just some idiots looking for trouble."

It took Kikumaru a moment to pull his mind away from the shock of seeing a Sprite-child in a human village for the first time. “Does, um, this kind of thing happen often around here?”

“Not until lately.” The girl gave him a small frown, which looked almost childlike on her face. “You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Your eyes. You’re a half-breed,” she said, as if it should have been obvious, and Kikumaru started. True, his bright red eyes and hair were unmistakable marks of his Sprite blood, but no one had ever called him that. Never in Mirhea, or even in Moltania. Not to his face. “You’re with that Human healer, aren’t you? Does he keep you because your parents abandoned you?”

Kikumaru stared.

“My mother didn’t want me because her people would expel her if she kept me. So the village elders said I could stay as long as I didn’t cause trouble.” The girl gave a small shrug. “But no one likes a half-breed. They say half-breeds bring evil. Say the poor harvests for the last few years are because of us. Because we're freaks and our existence goes against what the Nine decreed.” Something about the way she said those words told him she was repeating these from memory of oft-heard comments. They were incongruous with a child's face, the old but pretty dress in a dark blue hue that must have been midnight indigo once. "My own fault. Everyone usually just pretends I don't exist. I shouldn't have gone to see the festival yesterday. Those boneheads saw me there. They think I'll bring them bad luck for this year's harvest."

The matter-of-fact tone made him hurt somewhere in his middle, both for her, and for himself. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. Who had told this child such cruel things, had taught her to accept such a degrading name? “I’m a half-Chisu,” Kikumaru said quietly. “Chisu don’t abandon their children.” It was true. All books on Chisu agreed that there had been no recorded case of an abandoned Chisu child. Orphans were reared by the clan or the extended family, or even by neighbors. Chisu’s attachment to family and kinship was legendary. "Not everyone would abandon their own children, half-Sprite or not."

She wrinkled her pretty nose, disbelieving. “Oh yeah? What about your Human parent? Why didn't they take you?”

“I never knew my father,” Kikumaru admitted softly. He barely remembered his mother’s face now. "He died before I was born." Or he thought, anyway. Chisu didn't suffer from Human illnesses. Nothing but a broken heart would have killed his mother, would have made her leave her child behind. There were many reported cases of perfectly healthy Chisu wasting away after the loss of their mates.

“Oh.” The girl looked genuinely sorry. “I’m sorry. I never knew my father, either.” Her mouth tightened. “Not that I’d want to.”

“Why not?” He hadn’t really wondered much about his father, other than a vague curiosity, but it was more because whenever he tried to think about his father, he would inevitably recall his mother’s sad voice, her tears, and it made him want to forget. But he had never actively hated his father, although he knew Echizen did. Then again, he had never claimed to understand the little half-Cetera.

“Because he must have known I would never be accepted by Humans or Sprites. He should never have married a Sprite. Everyone knows two different kinds can never be together.”

She spoke with such prophetic certainty, with absolute conviction of an oracle. And he wanted more than anything to make her stop talking. Stop believing these things.

Stop making _him_ think about these things.

“Do you have somewhere to go for the night?” he asked instead. The girl shrugged. “Do you want to stay with me and Oishi? I’m sure Oishi won’t mind.”

“Oishi? Is that the healer’s name?” She sounded suspicious.

“Yes.”

The girl frowned at him. “Isn’t he a Human?”

“He’s my best friend. And the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh.” The frown really didn’t become her features, Kikumaru decided. It made her look even younger, more petulant. "Well. You're like me. And you helped me."

There was suspicion, yes, but also calculation in her eyes. Always gauging if she was safe, forever knowing she never was. He knew where she was coming from, at least a part of it, but he'd never had to be this wary of the whole world, not when he was this young. "How old are you, anyway?"

“Sixteen.”

"Shouldn't you be old enough to know better than let three boys corner you? At night?" Young, but not young enough to be ignorant of the dangers of being a pretty girl alone in the darkness, far away from help. If there was any willing to come to her aid.

"I had it under control."

Something about the smugness of her expression told him she wasn't bluffing. Sprites had Magic. Although half-Sprites usually didn't benefit from the full complement of Magic that their Sprite parents possessed, they often had a spark of Magic, or some Sprite charm that Humans didn't have. At her age _he_ could have gotten away easily from Human pursuers if he had to, and that was without any Magic. Perhaps she had some special ability that would have saved her. Even then, eventually she'd slip up, and maybe, there would be no one to help her.

"Yeah, well, if you want to pass up on the best omelet on this side of Hyrrha, fine."

"For free?" She was wrinkling her nose in a way that really didn't become her.

"You'll work it off with dishes. And helping around the clinic tomorrow."

He figured she would agree. The girl looked like stiff wind would knock her right over. Overeating certainly had never been one of her problems. As he expected, she pursed her lips with a frown, then nodded. "Fine."

"And one more thing."

"What?" Back to wariness.

"Stop frowning," he told her bluntly.

“Why?”

Maybe he should also add pouting to the list of don’ts, Kikumaru thought, half irritated and half amused. Half-Sprite or not, she tested his patience like any other teenager. “Because you look prettier when you don’t.”

That earned him a sly smile. “So you think I’m pretty?”

“For a little girl, yeah. Come on, I’ll make you omelet when we get there,” he added as the girl’s stomach gave another rumble, graciously pretending to not notice her blush. He turned, trusting her to follow.

Behind him, he heard a reluctant shuffling of the feet and a petulant huff, with a muttered, “I’m _not_ a little girl,” and smiled.

**********

Oishi, of course, did not mind the extra guest or putting some extra money into getting another room, and Ono – that was her name – ended up staying with them for the rest of their stay, helping with the herbs. Or making a mess. It was always a toss-up. Although she and Kikumaru argued all the time, Oishi didn't think it was in earnest. In fact, their little arguments reminded him of his sister, and he wasn't sure how the two of them would handle it when the time came for him and Kikumaru to return to Moltania. Especially since unlike Kikumaru, she wasn't welcome in her village.

Oishi wondered just what about Ono inspired such distrust from the rest of the village. Despite his and Kikumaru’s best effort, the villages barely tolerated her presence in the clinic, and after half a day, Ono mostly kept to the herbs room and didn’t enter the clinic. And Oishi knew the discrimination upset Kikumaru, even though it wasn’t aimed at him. Even if Kikumaru’s unusual coloring might have escaped notice the day they arrived in the excitement of the festival and the ruddy light of dusk, Kikumaru’s heritage as half-Sprite wasn’t difficult to detect. Yet, only some moments of hesitation in the beginning marred the first day of their clinic, and any lingering doubts seemed to melt away when Kikumaru spoke to the villagers in old Hyrrha tongue. Perhaps it was that Ono’s coloring made her stand out far more than Kikumaru’s did. Occasionally those with limited exposure to the Sprite-kind noted Kikumaru’s vivid coloring, but did not always connect it to Sprite bloodline. But there was no way to mistake Ono’s glimmering chalk-white skin and pupilless silver eyes as anything Human. Whatever the reason, the clear hostility from the villagers caused Oishi deep reservations about leaving Ono behind.

A week later, when the time of their departure drew close, a village woman came with hushed voice and unsmiling face to ask if Oishi could help a mother who had just given birth the day before.

“What seems to be troubling her?” Oishi asked, nodding to Kikumaru to gather what they would typically need for a nursing mother.

“It’s...it's not the mother,” the woman replied, biting her lip nervously. “Look, could you...could you just come, please? You might be able to do something.”

Oishi and Kikumaru exchanged a look, but followed her. Ono, surprisingly enough, kept in step next to Kikumaru, and Oishi again wondered what would happen to the poor girl once they left. Perhaps they could... They were hardly in position to take in orphaned children, but surely there must be something? Especially when Kikumaru so clearly cared for her?

Forcing his mind back to the current task, Oishi followed their guide to a small cottage. When they arrived, nearly half the village was gathered outside, restless and whispering to one another. Their guide lost no time to lose herself in the small crowd, and Oishi gave a mental shrug, and stepped forward.

Inside, the young mother was cradling a health-looking baby boy, worn out but not looking sickly. In front of her bed was a little old woman whom Oishi recognized as one of the respected matriarch of the village, the sonorous Hyrrha language turned harsh in her throat, gesturing imperiously. The mother shrank back to the headboard, clutching her baby tighter to her bosom, as if the gesture would put more distance between them. Her husband stood next to the bed, looking grim. Oishi looked to his partner, who was frowning as he followed the rapidly spoken conversation.

"She says that the baby is cursed. That he needs to be -- left in the forest."

"What?" Oishi was aghast. Expose a newborn baby? He scanned the room, then settled on the father. "Excuse me, sir. May I ask what happened?"

"You the healer from big city?"

"Yes." Typically, delivery of a baby was the domain of midwives, not healers, but it seemed to put the father's suspicions to rest.

"Old Mei here thinks our baby is cursed because he has a birthmark." His face tightened with grief. "She says our baby will bring death to the whole village if we don't--" He swallowed, a flash of pain darkening his eyes. "--If we don't expose him now."

Oishi nearly asked him if they were seriously considering this atrocity, but restrained himself. Judging by the pain on his face, and the terror on the mother's, the baby really was in danger here. Behind him he could hear shuffling, and he saw out of the corner of his eyes Kikumaru putting a protective arm around Ono, who seemed to be doing her best to disappear into the wall. Neither of them was in fit state of mind to provide him with translation, and Mei, if he recalled correctly, spoke only old Hyrrha tongue.

"Sir, could you ask her to explain what mark your baby has? And why it would bring death?"

The man stared at him for a moment, but dutifully turned to Mei and spoke to her. Mei narrowed her keen eyes at Oishi, and her words came like whipshot, short and emphatic.

"She says he has the mark of the Cursed Ones. She saw it during her great-grandmother's time. Says that crops failed and diseases killed half the livestock until the Magic Ones came and took it away."

Magic Ones. Some rural areas referred to Mages that way. "Begging your pardon," Oishi said with a polite bow to Mei, then addressed the mother directly. "May I have a look? I am a Mage, and have some knowledge of Magical markings."

"You're a Cetera?" The father's gruff voice was instantly suspicious. Even if West Hyrrha had come to grudgingly tolerate Cetera's ubiquitous presence, Hyrrha's attitude towards Cetera ranged from suspicion to downright hostility.

"No. I'm a Human Mage," Oishi said patiently.

That didn't seem to convince the father. "I thought there weren't any left."

"There aren't many of us." Oishi did not elaborate. "With your permission?" he prompted, to both the mother and the father. The mother had latched onto him with desperate eyes, and looked like she wanted to refuse. A second later, with a darted glance at Mei, who stood by with the air of an executioner, the mother nodded.

The baby, despite the commotion, was sound asleep, little pink mouth open and breathing evenly. Even when Oishi carefully unwrapped the swaddling cloth, the baby didn't stir. A vivid red mark the size of an apricot glowed on the right bicep. At first glance it looked like an ordinary birthmark. But a closer inspection revealed fading remnants of an intricate geometric pattern. And he couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen this mark before, or at least something similar to it.

Mei muttered something, then spoke in a ringing voice. The father stiffened. "Mei says the Magic Ones will want him. That they will destroy our village to get him. He can’t stay and that’s final."

That didn't sound like a typical Mage behavior. Besides which, what would any Mage do with a baby? "By Magic Ones, do you mean--"

Mei barked out another word, then another, tone clipped and impatient. "The Ancient Ones," the father translated. "The Dark Ones." When Mei spoke again, her voice was quieter, a hint of unease entering her usually imperious demeanor. "They hide in the shadows. Come like the night. Dragon-Slayers." The man frowned, as if trying to puzzle out Mei's words. "Wearing the mark of winged demon horse with collar and chain. Says she saw them only once, as a child. But she could never forget it."

If Oishi hadn't seen the gleam of intelligence in her eyes, he would have questioned the soundness of her mind in the face of such superstitious babble. But no, Mei's eyes were clear. She was frightened more than angry, but she was rational and calm. And she meant every word. The glitter of hardness in her gaze was underlined by conviction.

But equally strong -- perhaps stronger -- was the love in the mother's eyes as she looked at her sleeping baby. The tenderness mixed with determination.

"What will you do?" Oishi asked her softly.

She clutched at her baby convulsively. "If Mei says so, he can't stay here," she whispered. "Others -- they'll never accept--" She choked down an anguished cry, looking at him like a drowning person who just caught a glimpse of a boat. "Please," she said, and far flintier hearts than Oishi's would have melted in the heartfelt plea. " _Please._ "

"Oishi." Kikumaru's voice was strange. Oishi glanced at him, and found red eyes gone huge and dark, all carefree childishness gone. Ono did not look up, but the silver eyes, veiled with unnatural brightness of unshed tears, spoke more eloquently than any words could. His eyes were drawn back to the baby, sleeping blissfully unaware of the peril he slumbered under.

Kikumaru had grown up alone, like Ono. This baby was alone. Without help, he would die.

"We'll take him."

His own voice surprised him, breaking the silence with clarity that shocked him. But try as he might, he could add nothing, or take it back. The emotion in the mother’s eyes shifted from apprehension to desperate hope of someone clinging to straws, and Oishi took a quick breath, stealing another look at Kikumaru, whose eyes were also wavering with an emotion he could not identify. The look of awe in Ono’s face was harder to endure.

The mother swallowed, but could say nothing. With a sob she turned to her husband. “Take the child,” her husband said, and covered his eyes with his hand. The mother let out a cry, but quickly smothered her sobs, kissing her baby repeatedly, feverishly. Oishi waited until she was ready, and received the baby from her trembling arms. Mei watched the whole process with cool eyes, but Kikumaru was at his side, lifting his chin, returning her look with a challenging look of his own. Something akin to smile twisted Mei’s stern mouth for a moment, and she scoffed, muttering something in Hyrrha tongue.

When Kikumaru did not translate for him, Oishi glanced at him, but Kikumaru did not look at him. It was Ono who translated in a small voice. “She said a fool’s hope is the best hope.”

Oishi didn't know what she meant, and didn't care to ask. There was enough to worry about, like how they were going to raise a baby and a teenage girl, because there was no way in hell they would be able to leave Ono behind _now_. For better or worse, they were in on this and couldn't back out anymore.

A day later, Oishi and Kikumaru left the small village, accompanied by Ono and the baby, named Kaoru by his mother before their departure.

**********

The unexpected additions to the group forced them to return early to Moltania. Of course there was a sudden outbreak of some illness or other immediately after their return, and Oishi was busy from the day they got back. Not that Oishi ever took his work lightly, but Kikumaru had come to expect at least a day or two of relaxation just for the two of them after each trip. He knew the decision to bring along Ono and baby Kaoru wasn't so much made as simply happened because there hadn't been an alternative. But now that they were home, Oishi seemed determined to keep working and leave the two new members of their family entirely up to him.

Ono hung around him at first. Then around Oishi, with eyes that better suited a neglected kitten hoping the owner would notice it, even if only by accidentally stepping on its tail. Kaoru was a quiet baby and didn't fuss, almost as if he knew his mother wasn't around and he couldn't afford the luxury anymore. Both of them so quiet and undemanding. One could almost pretend they weren't even there.

Kikumaru slammed his crate of scrolls on the worktable with a bang.

"Eiji?" Oishi called in the ensuing silence. Kikumaru, too busy glaring at the table, did not respond, and a minute later, Oishi poked his head in the doorway. "Is everything okay?" Oishi asked, coming into the room.

"My hand slipped," Kikumaru answered tartly. Oishi looked like he was about to ask him what was going on, but was interrupted by the timely arrival of one of their regular customers. Kikumaru kept his back turned, putting away the scrolls with a furious sort of concentration. He knew without looking what kind of expression Oishi had on his face. Could almost picture the sweet smile Oishi reserved for patients.

“Welcome back, Miss Narumi, Miss Kurumi. Have you been taking your medicine like I said, Miss Kurumi?”

The little girl proudly declared that she had, and was rewarded with another one of Oishi’s smiles. Usually, Kikumaru liked watching Oishi work. Oishi’s hands were a healer’s hands, long-fingered and clever, strong but surprisingly gentle. And when he touched his patients those hands took on a life of their own, moving with grace and certainty entirely separate from the usual, easily-flustered Oishi. Today, everything tested his patience, including the way little girl glowed, starry eyes fixed on Oishi, hanging onto every word. Oishi prescribed her more medicine, and luckily it was one Kikumaru could prepare in his sleep, because his mind was elsewhere the whole time he measured out the potion into little bottles and sealed them.

Little Kurumi wouldn’t even let her own twin sister Narumi touch the parcel containing her medication. Their mother, Mrs. Ijyuin, bowed to them gratefully and left with her two girls. Oishi waved at them graciously, but before they were around the corner, his attention had already turned back to his notes.

Kikumaru watched him write down notes in elegant, careful handwriting. “She likes you, you know,” he said suddenly. “Kurumi.”

Oishi didn’t look up. “She’s just a little girl.”

“Yes, and she puts up with bitter medicine and weekly trips here because she likes you,” Kikumaru said, keeping his eyes on a chip on Oishi's chair leg.

Oishi sighed and turned to face him. “Eiji. She’s very ill, even if she doesn’t look it. I don’t know if I can help her.”

“So you don’t even want to acknowledge she likes you,” Kikumaru accused, his eyes fixed on a potion-stain on Oishi’s robe. “Because you don’t want that burden.”

“Eiji...” Oishi sighed. “We’ve been through this before.”

“Been through, but not finished,” Kikumaru snapped, and the heat in his own voice surprised him. “You never let anyone close. Because you don’t want to get attached to anyone.” He savagely cut Oishi off before he could speak. “You reject people. You seem so friendly to everyone, but in your heart, you reject everyone, even me!”

“Eiji!”

Oishi’s green eyes flashed, and Kikumaru felt a certain perverse kind of triumph at having caused the reaction. Usually, it took a lot more to disturb Oishi's equilibrium.

“Am I wrong?” Kikumaru asked levelly. Oishi was angry -- it meant Oishi saw truth in the accusation. The muscles in Oishi’s jaw worked, and Kikumaru did not wait before launching his second attack, before impenetrable walls slammed down between them. “You spent the last two weeks pretending you’re too busy to talk to Ono. Or hold Kaoru even once. Because unlike your patients, _they_ are here to stay, and you don’t know how to handle that. Am I wrong?”

“I don’t know how to...care for them,” Oishi acknowledged, anger subsiding into something more neutral. “But you’re...I never...” Oishi’s shoulders sagged, just a little, the heat dissolving from his gaze. “I know you don’t like the way I handle my patients. But I’ve never rejected you. Never. You’re... It’s different, with you,” Oishi finished, coloring.

Kikumaru couldn’t help softening, just a little. He’d always known he was special to Oishi, just as Oishi was special to him. He’d been patient for years precisely because of that. But – maybe Fuji was right, that there was a time to sound the walls, and there a time to scale them. “You feel for your patients so strongly. But you won’t even try to see the people they are, let alone like them. You want to help everyone, but you won’t let anyone in.” Kikumaru gentled his tone, more coaxing than confronting. “Why, Oishi?”

“Because I can’t save everyone,” Oishi finally said, his voice tight. “No matter how powerful I am as a healer, I can’t save everyone.”

“Who’s asking you to?” Frustration was seeping into his voice, and Kikumaru quickly quashed it. Getting emotionally worked up in a fight with Oishi was counter-productive, although it had taken years before he could put the insight into practice.

“Everyone!” Oishi exploded, helplessness in his voice, then subsided just as quickly. “People expect healers to save them. And I can’t! I’m supposed to be the most powerful healer in West Hyrrha in the last three hundred years. But I’ve lost count how many patients I’ve lost over the years. I’ll lose countless more.”

Kikumaru bit the insides of his mouth, hurt by the raw pain in Oishi’s voice. “But you don’t stop trying. You never stopped trying. The people you _can_ help, you always do everything in your power to help them.” Three steps brought him to Oishi, and Kikumaru put a calming hand on Oishi’s shoulder. “That’s got to count, right?”

“Eiji...” Oishi’s green eyes, so honest and open, were troubled, clouded. They called to him, and like a moth to flame, Kikumaru was helpless to resist. He drew closer, and was gratified when Oishi immediately reached for him, arms wrapping around his waist. Kikumaru put his own arms around Oishi, touching the back of his neck very gently.

“You can’t save everyone. But that’s not _your fault_. No one can.” Kikumaru could feel the tension unwinding from Oishi’s shoulders. But that was only one half of the problem. “Now me – you try to shield me from everything. Don’t,” he said sharply in warning, “tell me you don’t. You never let me come along if you think there’s even slightest chance of danger. You keep trying to convince me it’s better if I stay behind and look after things while you’re gone. Or you invent excuses to go alone.” He drew back just enough so they could look at each other in the eye. “I hate it when you do that, Oishi.”

“I just—” Oishi sighed deeply, like he was letting something go. “I just want you safe. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“And I can?” Kikumaru shot back. Oishi blinked as if the thought never once occurred to him. Kikumaru knew he was all Oishi had in the world, but the reverse was also true. From the widening of the lovely green eyes, the realization had finally dawned on Oishi.

“I’m sorry, Eiji. I wasn’t thinking.” Oishi sounded like he meant it, too. Kikumaru knew he did mean it.

“Damn right,” Kikumaru huffed, but it was hard to stay angry in the face of such tender look. He could feel a flush rising on his neck. “I’m not one of your patients. Or a child. I don’t need you saving me, or protecting me. You believe in your work. So do I. Every time you run off trying to help people, you can bet I’ll be there to help you. Who else would take care of your herbs? You’ll never find a better herbalist.”

That made Oishi smile, although it was a little sad around the edges. “That’s true.” Leaning forward, Oishi pressed his face against Kikumaru’s stomach, and Kikumaru swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. For someone usually so proper, Oishi could be surprisingly affectionate. “...Thanks,” Oishi murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Kikumaru said, trying hard for his usual voice. It was difficult when Oishi was so close, when Oishi’s scent enveloped him like this. “We’re partners, remember?”

Oishi’s laugh was still shaky. “Right.”

“And talk to Ono once in a while, she doesn’t bite. Oh, and no more slacking off, either. You’re changing Kaoru’s diaper at least twice a day. And that’s final.”

Oishi pulled away enough to smile at him, and Kikumaru felt his breath catch briefly. The smile was smaller, warmer, and more open than the one he gave to his patients. “All right. Deal.” With the smile still on his lips, Oishi pulled away, looking thoughtful. “Fuji once said I have a true Mage’s insight into the nature through my bond with Elemental Earth. And that it might give me access to a...collective consciousness that the Elementals share.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t know anything specific, but I can feel something is _wrong_ , and has been for a long time. You know severe droughts have become more common in the recent years. And ever since that light appeared, I can’t shake the feeling everything might be related. What happened with Kaoru may be only the surface of a much bigger problem.”

Well, speaking of Fuji. “We can try asking Fuji. Have him take a look at that mark Kaoru has, maybe? But you’re going to have to ask him to come soon. Kaoru’s mark is getting fainter,” Kikumaru added, remembering how the red mark on Kaoru’s skin faded with each passing day.

Oishi’s expression brightened. “You’re right. If nothing else, he might have more information from the Cetera about that light.” Oishi straightened, once again his usual, composed self, and Kikumaru couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. “I’ll contact Fuji tonight.”

“I’ll go see if the kids need anything, then,” Kikumaru offered, not moving yet.

Oishi nodded gratefully, turning back to the worktable, putting his back to Kikumaru. “I’ll come join you after I finish here. We could...I don’t know. We could take them out for dinner, maybe?”

“Ono will like that,” Kikumaru answered automatically. Oishi wasn’t looking at him, which meant he was thinking about something and didn’t want Kikumaru to notice. And Oishi was rearranging his work desk, which was -- as usual -- immaculate. Kikumaru held back a sigh; the walls surrounding Oishi’s heart had taken a century to build, and it was naïve of him to think they would come tumbling down just because he managed to reach past them once or twice. “I’ll be waiting,” he promised, voice soft but firm.

Oishi placed the inkwell back on the right side of the desk, still not looking back. “Right.”

Kikumaru watched Oishi for a moment longer while Oishi reorganized his perfectly ordered scrolls, and padded out of the room.

Seconds later, just as the door closed behind him, he thought Oishi started to call out his name, but stopped. After waiting for another moment, Kikumaru let out a little sigh, and walked down the corridor.

**END OF CHAPTER 3**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About _Sí Do Mhaimeó Í_. I first heard this song from _Celtic Woman_ CD. It's a lovely song in an equally lovely album. The translation for the quoted section goes: 
> 
> She's your granny, she's your granny  
> She's your granny, the hag with the money  
> She's your granny from the town of Iorrais Mór  
> And she would put coaches on the roads of Cois Farraige.
> 
> Do you reckon he'd marry, do you reckon he'd marry  
> Do you reckon he'd marry the hag with the money?  
> I know he'll not marry, I know he'll not marry  
> Because he's too young and he'll drink the money.
> 
> I once jokingly called Golden Pair my revisionist pair. It’s because every time I write a Golden Pair scene, I end up having to re-write or revise it multiple times. Which is odd, because individually, Oishi and Eiji interacting with other characters go without a hitch. It’s only when I write them together in a GP-only scene that this happens. The revision likewise ended up becoming quite substantial for this chapter, and took up quite a bit of time. Hopefully the rest of the story won’t be as bad, but given this story is nearly ten years old now, I severely doubt it. ^_~


	13. Rising Sea, 01. Yukimura & Sanada - Birds and Bees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very different backstory, one that is part of the Ripples arc, was supposed to go up today. Tried and true of Cetera tradition, I ran into problems. So here's the ficlet that was supposed to be in the installment after that.
> 
> Part the first of backstory subarc, Rising Sea. 1,945 words. Please pay attention to the subtitle, that really is the subject matter. This one takes place few years after Yukimura and Sanada first met, and over a century before the main story starts.

  
_**Et Cetera: Rising Sea**_ by _Shiraume_  


**01\. Yukimura & Sanada, “Birds and Bees”**

[Written November 2004 :: Posted January 31, 2014]

“Do you desire me?”

Sanada jumped rather high, Yukimura noted with interest.

“Wha-what?”

And Sanada was also sputtering. He did that around Yukimura, although never with others. Intriguing.

“I saw you looking at me, like that.”

“Like what?” Sanada was looking distinctly panicked now, though most would not have seen it. Yukimura was pleased to find _he_ could; Yanagi had told him before that Sanada was particularly hard to read for most. He had studied Sanada carefully and could categorize each and every reaction. Yet there was always something new from Sanada. That was what persuaded him to stay in the first place.

“Like how Humans or Cetera look at another when they desire someone sexually.”

Yukimura was puzzled when Sanada abruptly turned around, averting his eyes. “Excuse me,” Sanada said in a tightly controlled voice, and left the room. Looking at Sanada’s retreating back, Yukimura thought perhaps he had offended Sanada. Humans seemed rather embarrassed about sexuality in general, and even Cetera, though much less clandestine about sexual desires, were not terribly forthcoming on the subject. He had taken Sanada at his word that he could ask anything, but perhaps his question had been offensive by Cetera standards.

Yukimura extended his consciousness, seeking out Sanada. Sanada was still moving, headed towards the garden. Yukimura reconsidered. Sanada only retreated to the garden when he felt the need to calm down. If he wanted Sanada to respond to him and be an active part of his learning, he would have to redress the situation. With Humans or Cetera, Yukimura had learned apologies were the first step to restoring balance. So he teleported to the secluded enclave surrounded by thick trees, where Sanada often came to meditate. As he expected, Sanada was not here yet, so Yukimura sat down on a shaded bench and waited.

The evening air was cool, light breeze stirring the leaves. Heda’s evenings were particularly beautiful, Yukimura thought. Sanada’s family estate was extensive, and most of it had been turned into a vast garden that reminded Yukimura of the Gilean Forest, where they met. It was very well tended, and lent the manor both privacy and beauty.

Sanada strolled into the clearing, walking more quickly than usual. To Yukimura’s amusement, Sanada did not seem to notice him. Still, Sanada now looked more unsettled than angry, and Yukimura took this as a good sign. As he waited for an opportunity to alert Sanada of his presence, he watched closely out of habit. It was always different when Sanada was unaware of being watched.

Sanada ran a hand through his hair and sighed, a gesture Yukimura had rarely seen from him. Then, Sanada’s expression turned pained, before he shook his head and proceeded with his usual exercise. For his workout, Sanada used a mixture of physical training and meditation, including combat practice with and without weapon. It was strenuous, but Sanada’s graceful movements were beautiful to see. Yukimura knew Sanada was a superb swordsman: he had one of the best forms Yukimura had seen in his long existence.

When Sanada finished practicing with the wooden sword, he simply sprawled back on the grass rather than proceeding to meditation. Yukimura tilted his head to the side, considering. Sanada’s exercise had been much more vigorous, less controlled and longer than usual, but not so much that it would leave him completely exhausted. When Sanada did not get up after ten minutes, Yukimura rose to fetch the towel on the table nearby, and moved to join Sanada. Sanada’s eyes were closed, the wooden sword carelessly flung away. Yukimura knelt, and gently wiped away the sweat on Sanada’s brow with the towel. Sanada’s eyes flew open, and he sat up instantly, catching Yukimura’s wrist.

“Yu-Yukimura! What are you doing here?”

“Are you alright?” Yukimura asked instead, ignoring the question for the moment. “You did not get up for a while.”

Sanada seemed even less at ease at his observation. “You were watching?”

Yukimura nodded. “Do you mind? You didn’t seem to notice me.”

Sanada was silent. He hadn’t go of Yukimura’s wrist, but the grip was not painful or constricting, so Yukimura let it slide. “I came to apologize,” Yukimura tried again when Sanada did not say anything for a long time. Sanada looked at him questioningly, and Yukimura clarified. “You seemed upset when you left. I apologize if my question made you angry.”

“I wasn’t angry,” Sanada replied automatically. Yukimura just looked at him. After spending millennia watching Humans and Cetera, Yukimura recognized anger when he saw it. And Sanada was angry at _something_ when he left the room. Finally, Sanada bowed his head, sweat-soaked bangs falling in his eyes.

“I wasn’t angry with you,” Sanada clarified.

“With yourself?” Yukimura prompted.

Sanada looked back at him, and gave a low, rueful chuckle. “You know, for all you profess you don’t understand feelings, you are surprisingly good at reading them.”

“I’ve studied them for a long time,” Yukimura replied. “But I don’t always understand them. And I need your help to understand more.”

“Do you really need to?” Sanada sounded genuinely curious.

“I would like to,” Yukimura replied matter-of-factly. “I know you desire me,” Yukimura said, steering them back to the subject. “Why were you angry with yourself when I asked you about that?”

“Because...” Sanada paused, swallowed, and averted his eyes again. “Because if you saw that, it shows how much I was not in control of myself. I...” Sanada was looking at his hand, still clasping Yukimura’s wrist. “I ask you to forgive me,” he said at last, and Yukimura blinked. That was unexpected.

“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.” Sanada still refused to look at him, although he did release Yukimura’s wrist. Yukimura pursed his lips. “Do you think it’s wrong? Cetera customs say nothing against desire.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Sanada asked softly.

“Why would it? It is not the first time someone has looked at me like that.”

For some reason, his answer seemed to darken Sanada’s mood even more. “Of course. Excuse me.” Sanada started to get up, and Yukimura grabbed his arm. Although Sanada seemed to have much higher standards regarding propriety than most, if he kept at it, Yukimura would never learn anything. After all, Sanada had promised to help him learn.

“You said you would help me understand, Sanada,” Yukimura reminded him, mild disapproval in his tone, which Yukimura had found was most effective with Sanada. As he expected, Sanada subsided, defeated.

“What’s there for me to help you with? You obviously know about it.” Sanada’s voice was controlled, but with frustration and something else lodged within.

“It is no crime to want another, your customs tell me,” Yukimura said patiently. “But you feel it’s wrong to want me. Why?”

“You are my guest,” Sanada answered after a moment of pause. “It is wrong of me to impose my desire on you, especially when you do not reciprocate it.”

“Are you assuming I am incapable of feeling desire, or that I do not feel any for you?” Yukimura asked, and was amused to see Sanada flush beet-red.

“Can you? I mean...” Ah, but it obviously did not stop Sanada from feeling curious. Before he could answer, Sanada ducked and muttered an apology, trying to break out of his grasp, and Yukimura firmed his grip on Sanada’s arm.

“You don’t need to fear offending me when you ask me questions, Sanada. I ask you questions that could offend you all the time. It’s only fair.” Yukimura smiled, which always seemed to help Sanada feel more at ease. “As for your question, I do not know. In my experience, there were some who seemed to have no qualms about ‘imposing their desires,’ as you put it, though I felt nothing for them in return.”

Sanada tensed at this, and met his eyes for the first time since the exchange began. Yukimura was taken aback by the intensity in his eyes as Sanada suddenly grasped his shoulders with both hands, looking at him seriously.

“Did they try to force their desires on you?”

“Some tried,” Yukimura answered honestly. “I made it clear it was unwelcome in whatever way necessary.” Actually, Yukimura had killed the first Human that tried. He had been surprised, and reacted without thinking. Later, after he became more used to others looking at him with longing or lust in their gaze, he contented himself by verbally indicating it was unwelcome, and only using his power to repel them when they were not sufficiently discouraged. “Besides, both Cetera and Humans consider it wrong to impose one’s desire on another by force, do they not?”

“Yes,” Sanada replied firmly without hesitation, and it occurred to Yukimura what might have brought out Sanada’s sudden seriousness.

“Sanada, no one has forced me. Do you think anyone could?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Yukimura read some embarrassment in Sanada’s expression, and smiled to reassure him. “I suppose sex would feel pleasant for me as well, since my body is made very like that of Cetera and Humans. But for me it would not lead to procreation, so there is no purpose in it. And I have never been sufficiently curious to try for experience’s sake. As for whether I am capable of feeling desire, I do not know. I have never felt it before.”

Yukimura was surprised when Sanada’s eyes suddenly darkened, enough to let Sanada go when he stood abruptly. Without looking at him, Sanada offered a hand, a gesture that was both formal and courtly, and Yukimura let Sanada pull him to his feet.

“Excuse me,” Sanada murmured, and turned to walk away. Yukimura did not stop him. He had spoken the truth, but his honest answer had somehow hurt Sanada.

No, he knew why it hurt Sanada. Knew but could do nothing about it. Desire or longing was not the only thing he saw in Sanada’s eyes when he looked at him. There was something else, something deeper and stronger, and Yukimura knew it was the emotion that Humans and Cetera might call love. It was not the first time others had looked at him with that emotion shining in their eyes, but it _was_ the first time Yukimura wished that he, too, could feel that strange and profound emotion that seemed to transcend all barriers.

Lust was something he understood. He did not feel it, but understood it. Love was not something he understood, or thought he ever could, let alone feel. If what Sanada felt for him was simply lust, Yukimura liked him well enough to try, to see if his body could also experience the same kind of pleasure Cetera and Humans did. But love...

Sanada provided him with a link to the complex and mostly irrational realm of emotions, but wanted nothing in return, at least nothing that Yukimura could grant with his powers. Yukimura recognized the sensation gnawing at him as frustration. His drive to understand the World was the first sense of purpose he’d ever had since he could remember. But something -- some vital link -- was always missing. With Sanada, Yukimura felt certain, he could find that missing piece. But while he remained with Sanada, he could not answer or grant Sanada’s true wish, however he wished he could.

“Through me, many have sought and achieved what most Humans and Cetera deemed impossible. But you, Sanada, you had to pick the one thing that is completely and truly impossible,” Yukimura murmured to himself, looking after Sanada until he disappeared from the view. As he spoke, the strange, unnamed thing he felt inside was close enough to call longing -- though for what, Yukimura did not know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the earliest part ever written for Cetera -- right after the prologue, actually. Originally I’d planned to include this section in the main story, but as the story progressed, there was just no room. I wasn’t going to include this at all, but it does provide some background for the Sanada-Yukimura dynamics in the main storyline.


	14. Ripples, 06. Ryoma, Fuji, Tezuka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sixth (and probably last) story in Ripples arc. 4,480 words. Rated G for this part. Working title was "Hashira" (after the famous canon match between Tezuka and Ryoma, where Tezuka asked Ryoma to become Seigaku's hashira). Guest appearance by Rikkai! I’ll add notes later. Too exhausted tonight. :( It may be worthwhile to remember the Books in Cetera universe, despite the name, are not actually paper volumes at all, and can take various forms.
> 
> Coincidentally, the 2014 Valentine's Day falls on a night of full moon. Not just any full moon, but the very first full moon of the year by the lunar calendar, which is celebrated in my culture.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy this installment of _**Et Cetera**_.

  
**_Et Cetera: Ripples_** by _Shiraume_  


**06\. Ryoma, Fuji, Tezuka**

[ Written 11/21/2006 :: 2/14/2014 Edition ]

"Your family name is Echizen?"

Echizen shrugged.

Fuji considered for a moment, then murmured neutrally. "This might become interesting."

"Are you planning to tell me what you're talking about?" Echizen asked pointedly.

"Do you want to know?" Fuji countered calmly.

Echizen was one of the few who could meet his gaze so levelly, so challengingly. "I think I have a right to know," the boy said.

Fuji nodded, acknowledging the validity of Echizen's claim. "It's before my time as well, but it's a well known incident among the Cetera. Have you heard anything about your father at all?" Echizen shook his head wordlessly. Fuji considered what he was about to say, then decided to just tell the boy the truth. "To the point, then. Your father, Echizen Nanjirou, was something of a celebrity among the Cetera. You'll receive mixed reaction when you make your last name known." He added, softer, "Not all of them will be favorable. The last Echizen heir was a brilliant Mage, but had a reputation for arrogance. Caused quite a stir with his utter disregard for Cetera’s sacred laws. He was eventually disgraced.”

"'Was'?" Echizen prompted.

"I presume you understand Echizen Nanjirou is no longer with us," Fuji said, not unkindly, but without holding back. "He was exiled for heresy by the Council. About thirty years ago, his Book returned to the Lake Aeterna. I'll explain about the Book later," Fuji added, forestalling a question when Echizen frowned. "A Mage's Book only returns to Lake Aeterna when it no longer has its Mage's consciousness connected to it. So the Council publicly pronounced Echizen Nanjirou deceased and expressed regret over his fate."

"You said he was famous."

Fuji nodded. "Arguably the most talented Mage since the War of Adamant. Purportedly one the most powerful in Cetera history as well." And amongst Cetera, talent at Magic trumped everything. The most prestigious families were synonymous with families that produced the most powerful and talented Mages.

"So what'd he do?"

Fuji gave him a long look, then answered. "He was accused of perverting Cetera's sacred purpose and practicing the heretical methods in Magic, including and not limited to the practice of Magic without the Book."

The boy gave him a withering look, and Fuji wished he'd had the foresight to brew some tea before starting this conversation. This was going to take a while, and he'd had plans for the afternoon, which would now have to be all pushed back. Honestly, aside from the trifling issue of security, this unwanted disruption in his daily life was the very reason he'd avoided taking on a pupil.

"Every Cetera child is bonded to a Book of his own at the naming ceremony. The Book acts as both a teaching aid and a safety valve for the young. It provides a focus as well as a safe conduit for a Mage practicing Magic, and further serves as an individualized lexicon." There, straight from the textbooks. "It is forbidden for the Cetera to practice Magic without the aid of the Book or the Ralt, preferably both. Unfocused Magic can bring harm to those around the Mage and the Mage himself. Echizen family has always been a forerunner in the theories of Magic, but when the previous Echizen heir, your father, was reported to be practicing Bookless Magic, the Council ordered an official inquest. The investigative committee found Echizen Nanjirou's methods heretical and deeply dangerous, and recommended that he be recalled to Heda immediately and summarily stripped of his privileges as an Archmage. And the Order of Aras rescinded his scholarship. But Echizen Nanjirou refused to comply with the Council's decision. Even after his status as a certified Cetera Mage was conditionally revoked, he never returned despite several overtures of reconciliation from the Council."

Finding out that Echizen Nanjirou had fathered a half-Cetera child in the interim, Fuji thought, would simply serve as icing on the cake. Not that he was going to say it aloud to Echizen; it wasn't like he personally disliked the boy or his wayward father. And Echizen Ryoma was hardly responsible for any of the supposed misdeeds on Echizen Nanjirou's part.

Or at least that was the theory according to the Council.

"Why did the Council bother?"

Fuji spared a moment to feel a measure of empathy for Inui when he first found Fuji. "Cetera do not have a criminal justice system, per se. And for eons there was no need, either; it's rare to have a prominent member of the Cetera society misbehave as Echizen Nanjirou did. But at the same time, Echizen Nanjirou was hugely popular, especially with the younger Mages, even among the more prestigious families. To cut him off from the Cetera completely would have been an unpopular move."

Echizen's eyes narrowed. "That's the worst that could happen to a Cetera breaking the rules? A slap on the wrist?"

"For those the Council cannot afford to punish publicly," Fuji added, beginning to feel a hint of unease at Echizen's tone.

"And he knew." It wasn't a question. And Echizen wasn't done yet. "He knew he'd get away with it, and his Human wife and his -- _half-breed offspring_ wouldn't."

Fuji briefly considered pointing out Echizen Nanjirou certainly hadn't gotten away with anything, that Cetera usually lived to a ripe old age of a millennium and a half barring accidents, and only a small portion of the Cetera ever believed Nanjirou's untimely and unexplained death had been one, whether or not they agreed he'd deserved it. But Echizen was right to point out Nanjirou likely knew the full implication of having a half-Cetera child. Polluting the purity of Cetera bloodline with another species was one of the three greatest taboos in Cetera culture. Even those outside Cetera knew that.

Echizen hadn't been forthcoming about his life with his Human mother, but Fuji knew what Echizen likely faced all his life. For that, there was no excuse to be offered, and it was certainly not his place to make them on Echizen senior's behalf.

"So the old man was good at Magic, was he? Enough to get away with anything?"

Something about Ryoma's voice snagged Fuji’s attention. When he looked at his pupil, the boy's eyes were focused elsewhere. Utterly dry. And furious.

"I'll crush him. I'll make sure not even a memory of him remains when I'm through."

**********

Tezuka’s expression was progressively growing darker by the moment as he watched Ryoma. It was not exactly displeasure, but more of disapproval, or perhaps even puzzlement.

Fuji waited patiently. 

Tezuka’s hand curled, then clenched on the railing. 

“Fuji.” 

“Yes, Tezuka?” 

Tezuka paused for a moment, probably trying to gather his thoughts. “About Echizen...” Fuji let Tezuka take his time. Finally, Tezuka gave up trying to phrase his question gracefully and simply asked, “What happened?” 

“He found someone he wants to defeat,” was all Fuji said. Tezuka glanced at him with another one of his non-expressions that nevertheless communicated a question. “He found out about his father,” Fuji supplied.

“From you.” It was not a question. Fuji nodded. “Does he know what happened to Echizen Nanjirou?” 

“I told him exactly what the Council announced.” Fuji’s voice was just pleasant enough to turn the innocent answer into a barb. 

“I see.” Tezuka’s expression did not change, but his voice was too even, too neutral, even for him. “So Echizen wants to defeat his father. Is that why he suddenly took to training?” 

Fuji shrugged. “It’s a good a reason as any. He doesn’t like Magic – surprising, given how comfortable he seems using it.” Fuji stole a furtive glance at Tezuka’s face. As he expected, Tezuka’s brows were furrowed. “Nor does he care much about Cetera. All he wants to do is to become stronger. To eclipse his father until not even a memory remains.” Fuji paused only briefly. "His words."

“And after that?” Tezuka asked. 

Fuji did not answer. They were silent for a short moment. 

“Fuji. Can you bring him here next week?” 

Fuji’s eyes locked on his. After a moment, he nodded. “Let me know which day is good for you.” He added, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re the busy one.” 

Tezuka nodded back. “I’ll contact you as soon as I clear my schedule.”

**********

Fuji did not watch Ryoma and Tezuka’s first duel.

Ever since Ryoma came into the picture, neither of them had ever questioned each other on their respective decisions regarding Ryoma. Fuji had not asked Tezuka why he accepted Ryoma as his ward, and Tezuka had not asked why Fuji took Ryoma in as his pupil. Tezuka did not ask if his intervention bothered Fuji, no more than Fuji wondered if that was going to become a regular occurrence. Fuji had never intended to be the one to guide Ryoma’s future, had always meant only to give him lessons to find his own way there. Tezuka had never intended to teach Ryoma himself, but knew Fuji would not attempt to direct him in any way. After all, Fuji couldn’t care less about Cetera or Magic or the deeper meaning behind either; but it mattered to Tezuka, and just maybe, it would matter to Ryoma. That left what and how to teach Ryoma as Fuji’s prerogative, and where to guide him as Tezuka’s. 

In that same way, they had always understood each other. 

Therefore, when Ryoma came back that day, Fuji did not ask the outcome of the duel, or ask anything at all. When Ryoma asked to train with him that evening, Fuji thought he saw a similar fire in Ryoma’s eyes that he sometimes glimpsed in Tezuka’s, and could not help a shiver when those eyes locked on his, intense and watchful. 

So the next day, their true lessons began.

**********

“Don’t.” His voice was low, dangerous. Fuji said nothing, but bit his lip. His mouth twitched again.

Fuji opened and closed his mouth. The third warning glance did it. “I said light up the candle, not blow it up, Echizen.” 

Ryoma glared at him, picking out the droplets of wax from his hair. “I don’t see why I should do this in the first place. I’ve known how to make fire for ages.” 

“I suppose,” Fuji allowed generously, “given your present level of mastery, not being able to light a candle would hardly matter in the long run.” 

The glare intensified. “Exactly,” Ryoma muttered, then went to fetch another candle with all the dignity he could muster. Fuji only chuckled quietly.

Two minutes later, Ryoma was scraping off yet another candle from his shirt. “There has to be a better way to do this.” 

Fuji looked up from his scroll. “If you’re referring to an easier way, I’ll be happy to guide you through the basic steps.” 

“Not easier,” Ryoma said with a huff. “Just a better way. This is inefficient.” Fuji’s amused silence was too pronounced, and Ryoma met his eyes pointedly, daring him to say something. “And didn’t you say something about Bookless Magic being forbidden?” 

“Elemental Magic is an exception, since the Elemental itself acts as a focus,” Fuji replied serenely. Ryoma raised an eyebrow at that, and Fuji smiled, like he was pleased Ryoma caught on so fast. “Though it too can be done with the aid of the Book. If you’d rather train with your Book, we can change our lessons.” 

Ryoma studied him for a moment. “Is there a reason why you don’t use your Book?” Come to think of it, he had never seen Fuji use the Book for _anything_. Not that Fuji did a lot of Magic to start with, but when he did, he always used Elemental-based spells and didn’t bother to even touch his Book. In fact, Fuji seemed content to forever leave his Book in the study he never used (Fuji always took the books to his own room to read), unnecessary and forgotten. 

“Let’s just say the Book tends to get in the way when you’re in a hurry.”

Ryoma frowned at the cryptic answer. “Then why do Mages use it at all?” 

“Like I said, it’s easier. The Book is a conduit. It translates your intent and guides your Magic to perform a spell.” 

“But you said it gets in the way,” Ryoma objected, then reconsidered what Fuji said. “When you’re in a hurry.” 

Fuji’s expression was shuttered. “Magic is an intuitive act of will.” A tendril of water gathered over his open palm, dancing with the air, then solidified into needles of ice in a blink of an eye. Ryoma watched, wide-eyed, eyes riveted on Fuji’s hand. “Elemental Magic is a prime example. Using an agent like a Book or Ralt to translate your will can facilitate the learning process, but it will invariably create a small gap of time between thought and action.” Fuji met his eyes, and the next moment, the needles of ice shot through the air and were embedded deep in the wall, piercing the wood like butter. The needles then melted away, leaving no trace of what happened save for the tiny holes left in the wood, unnoticeable to inobservant eyes. “For the most talented Mages, the delay is only a second, or perhaps even a fraction of a second. Time enough – just enough – to decide life or death.” 

It was a while before Ryoma found his voice. “Are you saying you can just...do it as soon as you think it? The Magic?” 

“That’s the point of Elemental Magic. But you cannot simply learn Elemental Magic. You must master it completely, or you can endanger yourself and those around you.” 

Ryoma felt a chill run down his spine, remembering how things used to catch fire when he was scared or angry, and it was so much easier to start a fire than to end it. If he had ever lost control over his fire while he was traveling with his mother, back then... 

“The Book can be a useful tool. If you’d like to use it, do so. But you should prepare to do without at some point, or you will end up to relying on it forever.” Fuji’s eyes darkened, then he added in a low voice. “I knew a very competent Mage once. His analytical skills were unparalleled, and his potions, innovative and powerful. He knew every spell, weave, and array known to Cetera.” He paused. “But knowing all the spells in the world isn’t going to help you if you can’t use it in time.”

Something about Fuji’s voice prevented him from asking further questions. So Ryoma asked something else instead. “Elemental Magic isn’t generally taught until you have Mage certification, though, isn’t it?” Fuji nodded. “Then, why are we starting with Elemental Magic?” 

Fuji looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Because you’re already bonded to an Elemental, and there’s no sense wasting your time or mine. Most people have to learn it the other way around, but once you know how to use Elemental Magic, it’s much easier to go the opposite way.” 

It wasn’t until later that Ryoma understood the implication of what Fuji said. When he did understand, perhaps Ryoma felt tiny bit proud, and just patient enough to suffer through the amused silence and quietly shaking shoulders.

**********

When the septennial tri-level competitions came around, Fuji entered Ryoma with the air of a falconer releasing his favorite raptor for its first flight. Despite the reservations of the tournament committee, Fuji had entered him in the competition without first entering him for an assessment to verify his pupil had enough skills to participate safely. And Ryoma, who may or may not have been a trifle annoyed in a slightly embarrassed way, breezed through his level to the top in a couple of hours.

The pointing fingers and whispers did not escape his notice as he walked back to Fuji with the red tasseled cord carelessly draped over his shoulder. Fuji only smiled at him when he saw the red cord. 

“Congratulations.” 

“You should have entered me in a higher level,” was all Ryoma said with a huff.

Fuji did not answer, but his eyes danced. “Do you want to stay and watch the Apprentice-level competition?” 

Ryoma considered. He was rather curious what the other levels were like; the Novice-level competition, in his humble opinion, had been a joke. But that couldn’t possibly all there is to it. Tezuka and Fuji were the living proof. 

“Fine.” 

“I’m going to contact Tezuka, and let him know you did well.” He nodded to the cord. “He’ll be pleased to hear the news.” 

“Like I care,” Ryoma muttered as he walked off on his own. His guardian would not be impressed, not yet. And he had a bigger goal in mind. 

Unfortunately, by the time Ryoma managed to navigate around the maze of courtyards and plazas to the correct arena, the other levels had already finished their tournaments. There were animated talking voices, and several burgundy-collared Apprentice-Mages with colored cords were exiting. The two with white and yellow cord seemed disgruntled, looking with envy at the other two with blue and red cord. Ryoma only recognized the one with red cord from the practice area. That was the one who handled fire, with sufficient expertise that even Ryoma had grudgingly recognized. (Also, quite a show-off, Ryoma thought, given Elemental Magic wasn’t even allowed at Apprentice-level competitions.) 

“...the Apprentice-level just isn’t enough of a challenge, you know? I can’t wait to compete at Mage-level and challenge Archmages instead. Now that’s real Magic,” the fire-using Apprentice finished. Ryoma smirked. Interesting. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, placing himself directly in the path of the Apprentice with red cord.

“Why don’t you teach me some real Magic, then?” 

The Apprentices all stopped dead for a moment, then started laughing.

“By the Nine, is he for real?” 

“Hey, shorty, do you know who you’re speaking to? This here is Kirihara Akaya, who dominated the Apprentice-level tournaments four times straight!” 

Ryoma did not reply, did not even look at the others, keeping his eyes on the one with red cord instead, until the smile melted away and cool green eyes looked him over. “What’s your name?” 

“Echizen Ryoma.” 

The green eyes narrowed. Sharpened. “So you’re the brat Fuji took in.” 

The hoots and laughs died down, and other Apprentice-Mages nervously eyed the two. Kirihara's unsmiling, keen appraisal continued, already having dismissed their audience.

“Well?” Ryoma demanded in a bored tone, and was pleased to note the answering spark in Kirihara’s eyes grew hotter. 

“if you like. But it will be a costly lesson for you, Echizen Ryoma.” 

“Oy, Kirihara. Apprentice-levels aren’t allowed to duel with Novices, you know,” said the Apprentice-Mage with blue cord, sounding more cautious than before. 

“Shut up.” Instantly, everyone did. “There’s an empty dueling arena across the courtyard.” Kirihara threw a mocking look behind his shoulder. “That is, if you still think you can handle it.” 

Ryoma flashed him a smirk in answer. Without another word, they walked towards the arena.

**********

Sanada looked as if he wished to be anywhere but here. Which explained Fuji's unusual friendliness in engaging him in a conversation. Not that Yanagi couldn't understand it. Yukimura had much the same tendency to prod at Sanada. Yanagi stifled a laugh and nodded politely to Fuji. “I’m glad to hear your pupil has obtained first place in his level. Genichirou’s student has held first place in his for – how many tournaments now, Genichirou? Three?”

Sanada gritted his teeth. “Four as of today.” Yanagi knew perfectly well how many times Kirihara had won first place, of course, and knew Sanada knew that as well. But Yanagi couldn't help enjoying the way Sanada glowered like a bear whenever he was forced to socialize with people he didn't feel comfortable around. Fuji was definitely one of them, but Sanada's reaction to Archmage Irie of the Academy tended to be particularly entertaining. Fortunately for Sanada, Irie wasn't present today, but Fuji was. And Fuji's sparkling, cheerful smile had only grown as Sanada's discomfort grew.

Fuji beamed at him. “How wonderful. Although, many mentors would think it’s unnecessary to repeat the Apprentice-level competitions, and would rather focus on the Mage-level certification exam.”

“There are overlaps in the material,” Sanada replied, just on this side of snapping.

Fuji’s smile, if it were at all possible, became even friendlier. “You are a conscientious mentor, Archmage Sanada, as I have heard.” 

“Archmage Sanada!” Three of them looked up at the newcomer, and Sanada nearly sighed in relief, to Yanagi’s barely suppressed amusement.

“Mage Kuwabara Jackal, one of those under Genichirou’s guidance to obtain Archmage certification,” Yanagi murmured to Fuji. Fuji nodded his thanks, and inclined his head in greeting. However, Jackal seemed too agitated to even notice, let aloe return the courtesy.

“You have to come. It’s Akaya.”

"What has he done _this_ time?" A note of real concern belied Sanada's annoyed tone. 

"It seems Akaya's gotten into a duel." 

Yanagi's brows furrowed. "The Apprentice-level competition should have already ended." 

"It did." Jackal confirmed. 

"Who's the opponent?" Sanada asked, already turning on his heel. 

"The first-place winner in Novice-level competition, I believe. Echi—" 

"Where?" It was Fuji this time, and Jackal looked at him, startled to realize he was there. 

"This way." 

Without another word, all three of them followed Mage Kuwabara, their pace just short of a sprint. "How did this happen?" Sanada snapped, and Jackal seemed uneasy. "You were supposed to have been with him." 

"I was waiting for him at the gate, as promised. It seems the Novice-Mage challenged Akaya when he was leaving the competition arena." 

"Akaya hardly needs a challenge to start a duel," Sanada shot back angrily. "If the word gets out he's dueled a Novice without permission..." 

Yanagi shot a sidelong glance at Fuji's tight expression and added, "Especially if he were to cause injury. Let's hurry." 

When the four arrived at the scene, however, they stopped as one to stare. The two contestants had collected a large audience, and from what they could see – Yanagi blinked to make sure he was not seeing things – the two of them seemed evenly matched. 

"Amazing," one of the spectators said in a hushed voice. "I've never seen anyone under Archmage-level handle Elementals this well." 

Fire clashed with fire, entwined like twin serpents, each vying to pin the other, but neither able to gain the upper hand. Despite himself, Yanagi couldn't help watching, just for a moment, mesmerized by how naturally and readily the Elementals responded to their bonded wielders, whose faces held intense concentration, aware of nothing but each other and their own Elementals.

"Are they really Apprentices? Wait, that one – isn't he wearing a purple collar? By the Nine, he's a Novice-Mage?" 

"Akaya!" Sanada thundered, apparently recollecting himself, and Kirihara jumped, his concentration broken. Ryoma relentlessly pushed his advantage, but it was clear he was nearing his limits. 

"Echizen," Fuji said, not quite a snap, but his voice carried like an icy wind, and Ryoma instinctively backed off, startled.

“Archmage Sanada, I was _winning!_ ” was the first thing that left Akaya’s mouth, and Yanagi’s lips twitched despite himself.

Ryoma snorted. “You wish.” He seemed quite unfazed by the intense glare Sanada leveled at both of them.

“Both of you. Out of the arena. Now.” Kirihara gulped and made beeline for the nearest exit, but Ryoma merely angled a look at Sanada, sizing him up. Yanagi wasn’t sure whether to be amused or appalled at Echizen’s sheer nerve. Didn’t the child have an ounce of self-preservation instinct?

“I could settle for you, if you want.”

Fuji’s mouth opened exactly the same time Sanada’s did. Hastily Fuji bit his lip, stifling a half-formed laugh. Sanada, for his part, seemed speechless out of sheer disbelief.

“Echizen.” A new voice. Quiet, yet it nonetheless turned all attention to the speaker. Echizen finally seemed resigned, and with a soft, “Che,” headed to the exit, where Tezuka had materialized seconds ago, waiting to collect the wayward Novice. Kirihara seemed astounded, and by the time the indignation set in, Echizen had already passed him by with a smirk, and Jackal had to redouble his efforts to restrain the volatile Apprentice-Mage.

“Your pupil really is something else,” Yanagi murmured to Fuji, who was back to his normal self now that he’d seen his pupil was unharmed.

“That he is, though I could say the same about your friend’s pupil.” With a nod, Fuji murmured his excuses and joined his pupil, who was following Tezuka out of the competition arena. Yanagi exchanged short nods with Tezuka, then rejoined his colleagues.

**********

Once outside, neither Tezuka nor Fuji spoke, and Ryoma shifted, growing uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I could have handled him.”

“No, you couldn’t. Not right now.” Fuji’s voice was too quiet, too smooth, and Ryoma couldn’t see his face. Tezuka was silent, face inscrutable.

“I was doing fine,” Ryoma insisted, but his voice was losing conviction.

“Only because Kirihara underestimated you, thinking you couldn’t possibly match him in Elemental Magic. If he had switched to weaves or arrays, he’d have won in a flash.” There was the same featureless tone again, like carved obsidian, obscuring what lay underneath. Ryoma did not answer, now sensing something was really wrong.

“You could have gotten seriously hurt,” Fuji snapped suddenly, and Ryoma started. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Tezuka’s eyes darting to Fuji, fleeting expression of surprise in his eyes. Before he could answer, Fuji walked away, leaving him alone with Tezuka.

“You do not have the full understanding of dangers associated with Elemental Magic,” Tezuka said, and even though he did not raise his voice, Ryoma knew Tezuka was displeased. Not angry, the way Fuji was, but definitely disapproving. “Neither of you has adequate control over your Magic. If your Elementals tangled mid-spell, you could have taken out the entire arena. And Kirihara Akaya isn’t known for his control.” Ryoma’s head lowered a fraction, which constituted more of an apology than anything he could have said, and Tezuka’s expression smoothed. “Fuji is angry because he was worried about you,” Tezuka added, and something in his tone made Ryoma wonder if it was first time for Tezuka too, to see Fuji angry.

Then the rest of what Tezuka said registered, and Ryoma swallowed. “Oh.”

Tezuka said nothing else, not even that Ryoma should apologize. Fuji was waiting for them at the arched gateway at the end of the courtyard. When the two of them caught up with him, Ryoma glanced up at Fuji, who looked very much his normal self now, and said simply, “Sorry.” Fuji’s expression did not change, but after a moment, he nodded. Ryoma added, “Next time, I’ll be sure to win.”

Unexpectedly, Fuji smiled. “Next time.”

Together, the three of them stepped outside the gates, into the open streets.


	15. Shades of Blue, 01. Atobe - impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting off the “Shades of Blue” arc! An Atobe-centric backstory. 5,400 words. Rated B for boring-ass politics. 
> 
> Since this year doesn’t have 2/29... Happy birthday, Fuji Syuusuke! :D

  
**_Et Cetera: Shades of Blue_** by _Shiraume_  


**01\. Atobe Keigo - impression**

_impression_ – n. An effect, a feeling, or an image retained as a consequence of experience.

[ 2006/2012/2013/2014 :: 2/28/2014 Edition ]

Cetera. _Ketyre._ "The rest," in High Tongue.

Created last by the Nine Gods, the Creators, who realized the World as they had shaped it was too wild, too uncontrolled and needed help. But the World was a fragile place by that time, full with creatures of different lifespan, intelligence, and abilities. A direct intervention from the Nine would have proved too hazardous to the delicate life-forms already existing in the World. But the Humans, the creation most adored, faced a difficult and hostile World. And Sprites, most of whom had varying amounts of Magic, were running wild, wreaking havoc and causing chaos throughout the World. And so the Nine created the Cetera, their own servants, to serve the World and all its inhabitants according to their will.

But the Cetera were also a people. As their number multiplied, so did their problems, the same kinds that plagued any group of social organisms. They, like the Human race and the Sprites, needed governance. So the Cetera created the first of its own governing bodies, the Assembly. Through the Assembly, all adult Cetera stood as equals and had a say in the running of their affairs. Of course, once the Cetera grew too great in number, the Assembly was no longer a tenable entity, and so the Assembly, by popular vote, established the High Council who would represent the Assembly and govern the Cetera affairs according to the wishes of the majority. Eventually, the High Council in turn came to rely on the leadership of the wisest and the most dedicated among their ranks, and offered them the seats of honor. To honor the Nine, nine of such seats were created, numbered from the First to the Ninth, honored in accordance to the length of each member’s service to the Council.

In time, two other branches were established to manage the different part of the Cetera society. The Temple, led by the college of its prelates, came to govern all the religious matters, including the interpretation of the Nine's will. The Academy, directed by its board of lectors, was placed in charge of educating and nurturing all of Cetera’s young. The High Council, under the guidance of the nine seats, continued to oversee the Cetera affairs. The three branches ever remained closely intertwined, and the High Council retained a measure of influence over the other two, particularly after the Primi, the Firsts, the foremost members of the Council’s nine seats, were granted the Rights of Sacra, the ultimate authority to interpret the will of the Nine. Thus the board of lectors in the Academy, the college of prelates in the Temple, and the seats of honor in the High Council were effectively united under the Primi.

The Atobe family had produced its share of illustrious members in the High Council as well as the Academy, but not yet a Primi.

As the sole heir of the distinguished Atobe name, Keigo knew there were certain expectations laid upon him since birth. So Keigo chose acquaintances and alliances with care, keeping track of all those who might prove useful in the future. His parents were proud of him, as they might be of a particularly fine work of art in their possession. Even as a child his insight into a person’s weaknesses was so penetrating, even his own parents learned to rely on it. The only time his parents disagreed with Keigo was about Kabaji Munehiro, his faithful companion since they could walk. On this matter alone Keigo actively challenged his parents, citing that the Kabaji family had churned out its share of powerful Mages. Eventually, it became clear Kabaji would serve adequately as Keigo's companion, and his parents stopped bringing it up in their politely circumspect conversations over occasional family dinners. As if Keigo would make a mistake when it came to people. He would never have bothered if he wasn't absolutely sure Kabaji was worth the effort.

Nevertheless, Atobe heir could afford to make no friend in the sense deeper than mutual allies. Kabaji was more than that, but only because Kabaji was special in many ways. But Kabaji would remain, little Keigo swore, the only one. The only one he trusted to stay with him for something less defined than an immediate advantage. There would never be another one like that.

Keigo, after all, had never been wrong.

**********

Keigo was little over a hundred and fifty years old – barely a teenager by the Cetera reckoning – when he met Tezuka Kunimitsu. His first impression of the little Tezuka heir was, in a word, unimpressive. Tezuka, not yet even fifty, albeit with a reputation as a precocious prodigy, was an overly serious, scrupulously studious, and plain boring child. Keigo found it easier to just ignore him.

What eventually made Keigo notice Tezuka was the way Archmage Sakaki, his mentor, treated him. Archmage Sakaki, ruthlessly competent, was one of the very few people Keigo respected. And it startled him that Sakaki would engage Tezuka in a conversation as he would with an adult, an _equal_ , when Sakaki barely deigned to even acknowledge most adults in the group of his own peers.

Then, Keigo came to acknowledge Tezuka himself when the two of them first crossed Ralts. Keigo was proud, but never too proud to accept talent when he saw it. And nobody, with perhaps the grudging exception of Sanada, had ever challenged him to the limits as Tezuka had. Their social circles overlapped quite a bit, anyway, and the two of them inadvertently ran into each other often, studying under same swordsmasters and tutors. They nearly ended up both studying under Archmage Sakaki, too, but for some inexplicable reason, Tezuka's parents chose the eccentric and famously ambitionless Archmage Yamato instead. This became one of the truly memorable times the usually immaculate and imperturbable Archmage Sakaki expressed open displeasure. For his part, Keigo was happier with the way things turned out. Not that he minded the competition. But he never balked at telling people the truth when they were, in his excellent and usually entirely correct opinion, acting like a stick in the mud. And Tezuka was never afraid to show his disapproval to anyone. Hell, they first became tentative friends after a round in the arena over some trifling argument or other. Keigo liked the challenge Tezuka presented, but rather doubted it would be constructive to his progress on a daily basis. He'd probably end up strangling Tezuka within that first week.

(Centuries later, Keigo would wonder if they had studied under the same mentor, whether their relationship would have turned out differently. If he were in the habit of regretting, that was.)

Also, there were some things about Tezuka he could never come to terms with. Like the way Tezuka doggedly clung to old-fashioned code of honor. Not that Tezuka fought any less ruthlessly than Atobe himself did, when it came to a duel, but he also insisted on being honorable at the same time. Those two things didn't mix well in Keigo's experience, but Tezuka managed to wing it somehow.

It amused Keigo. And it exasperated him. He knew Tezuka would rather break than bend. He suspected possibly he didn't want to find out what it took to break Tezuka.

**********

Keigo had always been an ambitious child, and knew from an early age that he was destined for greatness. His natural talent, his lineage, his innate charisma, even his beauty – all hinted to a pre-eminent career even amongst the best of Cetera elites. And he was determined to leave his own mark on Cetera history. An indelible impression meant to last for generations to come. For that, he played the marriage game as adroitly as he played at political and personal alliances.

His own parents’ betrothal and marriage had been a point of intense negotiation, and the result of countless trials and errors beforehand. The paternal side of his lineage had always been involved with the High Council and the Academy, the maternal with the Temple. An idea alliance any way one looked at it, providing their only son with an incomparable advantage the vast majority of Cetera could only ever dream of. Which meant that ever since Keigo could walk, the subject of his betrothal was always on the table, ready to be examined at a moment’s notice. He was scarcely two hundred years old when he was first betrothed, which only lasted half a century before another potential bride was negotiated. Three more candidates later, Keigo had won his Mage certification and entered the Academy to continue his research on High Tongue, and was betrothed to yet another bride-hopeful. The process was cumbersome, but Keigo wined and dined the parade of would-be-brides with perfect decorum and charming grace. It was, after all, just one more thing expected of the Atobe heir.

Tezuka was incomprehensible to him on best days, but the most puzzling was his family relations. For one, Tezuka’s parents, Kuniharu and Ayana, had married after a scandalous romance – scandalous because they made no secret how they had fallen in love and canceled their respective betrothals to marry each other – and were as devoted to each other now as they had been when they first married. For Cetera, marriage meant alliance between families, nothing more. Once a couple produced a requisite heir, no more was required of them. Extramarital affairs were accepted simply as a matter of course, and as long as one made reasonable efforts to upkeep a discreet public image, even children out of wedlock were taken in strides. For a couple to be so besotted with each other was as rare as a marriage out of love. Worse still, the stern and tradition-loving patriarch, Tezuka Kunikazu, had consented to allow his grandson to find a spouse in his own time, and Tezuka Kunimitsu remained without an affianced bride.

Keigo supposed, however, Tezuka family’s scandalous behavior couldn’t possibly compare to the sensation Sanada Genichirou caused when he refused his appointment to the High Council as its Ninth seated member. It was unheard of. To serve as a seated member in the High Council was the highest honor for a Cetera, whose purpose of existence was to serve. Not to mention it foiled a highly political move on the Council’s part. All the kerfuffle Echizen Nanjirou raised in the recent Cetera history, ending with his expulsion from the Cetera’s ranks, had polarized the public opinion to a dangerous degree. The High Council needed to neutralize unsavory elements quickly after Echizen Nanjirou’s departure, but in doing so, they had alienated most of the liberal groups and even some of those who maintained the precarious middle-ground. Especially when two of the seated members in the High Council joined the swelling ranks of those purged from Heda. Sanada would have been a sound choice: young enough to appease the more liberal side of the scale, but with firm reputation as a traditionalist. Furthermore, while Sanada’s family had been associated more with the Temple than the High Council, few would have had more reason to welcome such an opportunity. Sanada’s family name had been besmirched by a scandal a few centuries earlier – one that had forced the young Sanada Genichirou to take over as head of the Sanada family quite early. Naturally, vast majority including the Council and the Primi considered it a given that Sanada would jump at the chance to restore his family’s fortunes. Instead, Sanada flatly refused the offer. It seemed Sanada bore a leftover grudge toward the Council, under whose orders the official investigation uncovered a certain mishap that had cast an indelible stain on the revered Sanada name. Only a select few within the Cetera elites, Keigo among them, were amused at the Council’s dismay.

But if not Sanada Genichirou, the High Council needed someone else from similar age group with equally prestigious standing. As expected, Council turned to the young Atobe heir as the next candidate for the Ninth seat, a position Keigo accepted with due show of hesitance and modesty.

Finally his real work had begun. The High Council had likely offered the position thinking it would please his vanity – and Keigo was famous for self-indulgence and vanity – and keep him conveniently powerless as the youngest and least influential seated member. But Atobe Keigo had plans, and he was just getting started.

First order of business was to rise through the ranks. The Primi – currently limited to the first three of the seated members – were difficult to displace, given they served for life and could only be removed by unanimous vote, but others were not. Keigo took great care to remain scrupulously clear of anything that could tarnish his career even as he continued his careful orchestrations. The shuffling in the High Council was extensive, even among the usually immutable seated members, and each change in the ranks brought him a step closer to the Primi. _And_ , equally importantly, Keigo had managed to lobby for new Council members who, even if not quite on his side, were less susceptible to the Primi’s immediate influence.

Throughout all of this, Tezuka had been curiously silent in what was arguably the most politically charged century in Cetera’s recent history. Perhaps, in a way, that was expected. Tezuka’s interest was in Magical combat and research, but never politics. Keigo was now the Seventh, unquestionably the rising star of the High Council. Yet unlike Keigo’s other associates, Tezuka never showed the slightest inclination to use their personal ties.

Keigo was all the more surprised, therefore, when Tezuka actually approached him for a favor.

**********

“Let me get this straight,” Keigo started. “You want to be present at the certification exam for this half-Cetera that Inui Sadaharu found.” Tezuka was silent. “Why, pray tell?”

“Personal favor,” Tezuka replied succinctly, and Keigo’s lips curled in distaste.

“For Inui of Pyris? One of the black sheep the Council purged from Heda? You’re doing a personal favor for him?” Tezuka didn’t so much as shrug, and Keigo sighed in exasperation. “You do realize the damage you’d inflict on the Tezuka name by mere association with the likes of Inui?”

“And that would matter to me how?” Tezuka countered.

Keigo gave a tiny nod, acknowledging the point. “Very well. Anything else?”

“Will the Primi be present?”

Keigo snorted. “At an examination for a half-blood? Surely you jest. Any further requests?”

Tezuka considered for a moment. “No.”

“The Academy will likely appoint Irie Kanata be the examiner. Which means your half-blood’s chance depends on his mood.” It wasn’t a warning, exactly, since all of Cetera knew about Irie’s incorrigible habits. Despite his prodigious talents at Magic, Irie was lazy and erratic, and had barely scraped by for his Archmage certification. Afterward, he’d drifted in the Academy aimlessly, and occasionally moonlighted as one of the examiners. He was competent and serious when he wanted to be, but completely useless during the rest, which was about ninety-percent of the time. Had Irie been even a little bit motivated, the Primi might have tapped him for a seated member in the Council rather than Keigo. In fact, the only reason Irie was able to stay in the Academy was because he and the Academy’s current Vice-Head, Tanegashima Shuuji, were inseparable friends. How on earth Irie maintained such close friendship with Tanegashima was a mystery to all.

“He’ll pass,” Tezuka said, and Keigo raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Keigo confirmed. “I trust you don’t need to be present during written part of the exam.”

“No.”

“Then be at the arena by three.”

“I will.” If Keigo hadn’t known Tezuka as long as he had, he wouldn’t have seen the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “I appreciate it, Atobe.”

The unexpected gratitude brought an amused snort. “Make it worth my while, then,” he countered, gears in his head turning rapidly. It might be a stretch so soon after the Council replaced two seated members, but one more couldn’t hurt. Perhaps not right away, but Keigo could be patient and persistent when he needed to be. And Tezuka had nearly all the qualities he could wish for a new seated member in the Council. Few families in Cetera could claim a nobler lineage, or cleaner reputation. The Tezuka name commanded respect from the older and the younger generations alike. Not a family particularly known for political ambition, true, but Tezuka's mother was the only child of a very wealthy, extremely well-connected family with long involvement in the Academy.

And, perhaps most important of them all, he could trust Tezuka. Without ever having attempted to enmesh Tezuka in an alliance of mutual needs and benefits, he knew Tezuka could be counted on as long as they shared the same vision for Cetera's future. Although he had a close inner clique he'd cultivated over the years, except maybe Kabaji he trusted Tezuka the most.

"Don't get too involved with pointless details," Atobe drawled. If he hoped to establish Tezuka as the Ninth-seat in the near future, the last thing he needed was Tezuka dallying with the wrong sorts. Like a half-Cetera. "The name of Tezuka doesn't belong only to you."

Tezuka didn't look away or evade. That was never his way. "We'll see."

If nothing else, Keigo mused, it would be entertaining to watch the Primi try to deal with Tezuka. He'd been a sensation himself when he first joined the Council at an unprecedented young age. If Keigo managed quickly enough, Tezuka might break his record, but the passage had been broken for him. Acceptance would come far easier. "You're going to be awarded Order of Aras soon," he said, wondering when he could start a quiet propaganda. Tezuka's research was just traditional enough to avoid full censure, but just rebellious enough to appeal to the younger generations. "There should be a celebration for the occasion."

Tezuka did not react save for the nearly imperceptible lift of an eyebrow. Keigo didn't bother answering in words. He knew better than to expect Tezuka to participate in what was – technically – Tezuka's own campaign for candidacy in the Council. That Tezuka had yet to give his consent to any of this was trivial detail, to be seen to some other time. In the meantime, he had a political campaign to plan.

**********

Keigo's first reaction to Fuji Syuusuke was irritation.

That in itself wasn't unusual. A vast majority of people Keigo met on daily basis irritated him one way or another. But Fuji was special, in the way he was annoying in spectacular proportions. And worst part was he couldn't quite pinpoint what about Fuji caused such reaction. For everyone else, Fuji was so perfectly innocuous and inoffensive, even the Primi hadn't thought twice about granting him the Mage certification. And – while Keigo wouldn't have deigned to comment – Archmage Irie was, for once, intrigued. Not enough to take the half-blood seriously, but enough to poke at him once or twice.

Then Fuji shot him a faceful of ice needles from behind a screen of steam and Irie actually grinned, looking like a cat that just spotted a canary. Only, Keigo couldn't shake the odd thought the feeling was mutual. Something about Fuji was too veiled. Fuji was struggling, but not because he feared losing.

No, Fuji was struggling to adjust to his opponent. The first time Irie startled him, not ten minutes ago, the explosion of fire was too swift and instinctive to have been a spell. Supposedly Fuji's Elemental was Water. But no Water Elemental, by itself alone, could change phases so swiftly as Fuji's did. There was a young up-and-coming by the name of Ibu something or other who also controlled ice through his power over Water Elemental, but Ibu's ice moved much slower, and couldn't be used until the water froze completely. Fuji's ice, though on far smaller and less destructive scale, formed as quickly as thought and fluidly changed from steam to water to ice and back. Suppose, unlikely as it sounded, Fuji was able to control not one, but _two_ Elementals? Perhaps Fire? It was extremely difficult, even for the most skilled Archmages, to combine two Elementals' powers. Immeasurably more so for two Elementals of opposing natures. Difficult, but not impossible.

But – theoretically – it should have been impossible for a half-blood, whose powers often straggled behind those of the pure-blooded Cetera. Especially for one who was supposedly brought up in the Human world, his Magic untrained.

Keigo stared across the arena, at Tezuka, whose face was intent and focused on Fuji. A hint of vindication, and genuine interest. Research and dueling were two things Tezuka loved the most. Naturally, any strong opponent intrigued Tezuka.

Except Tezuka had never looked so personally interested in an opponent before. Not ever.

Keigo turned away, feeling inexplicably irritable.

Irie won, to nobody's surprise. Keigo knew Irie made an effort near the end. By which Keigo knew Irie took a liking to the half-blood. Else, Irie wouldn't have bothered with any attempt to make the exam result look credible: exceptional enough to quash objections, but not so prodigious that it raised suspicions. Even then Fuji’s scores were easily on par with those who later achieved the Archmage status. Not that Fuji would ever be accorded that honor. The Council would never allow it, and neither would the Academy. Likely Fuji's talent would be wasted, and he, like the other half-Cetera before him, would spend his life in obscurity.

Keigo's lips thinned. He was trying to raise Tezuka to the Council’s seated position. Fuji was the last person Tezuka needed to associate with. From the expression on Tezuka's face, the only dissatisfied face in the entire testing arena, Keigo knew nothing would stop Tezuka from associating with Fuji. To try and reach whatever lay underneath the layers and layers of misdirection Fuji wrapped around himself. Fuji was an enigma, someone with a lot of secrets. Tezuka had a special aptitude – and an unfortunate fondness – for puzzles.

Keigo couldn't see any way any of this would end well.

**********

"Echizen Nanjirou's son?" Keigo repeated, aghast.

Tezuka just looked at him. Tezuka always disliked repeating himself.

Keigo rubbed his forehead. "Let me get this straight. The half-blood you saddled yourself with, Fuji's new pupil, is Echizen Nanjirou's son."

"Yes," Tezuka replied with a hint of impatience.

"And did you know that before or after you accepted him as your ward?"

"After," Tezuka said shortly. "My decision wouldn't have been affected."

Keigo spared an uncharitable thought toward Fuji, that perhaps Fuji knew and maneuvered Tezuka into accepting guardianship over the brat on purpose. But knowing Fuji, it seemed unlikely; for one, nobody ever had Tezuka do anything he didn't damned well want to do. For another, Fuji would have known perfectly well that Tezuka's decision indeed wouldn't have been affected, and Fuji never wasted his time manipulating an outcome that was already decided. Tezuka had always been different, but ever since meeting Fuji, there was a streak of reckless impulsiveness that startled Keigo. Or maybe it had always been there, under the surface of calm and dutiful propriety, which only needed an excuse to break free. 

Keigo sighed. "Do try to keep in mind what Echizen Nanjirou was exiled for, ahn?"

Apostasy. Heresy. Practice of forbidden and dangerous methods in Magic.

Tezuka narrowed his eyes at him. "Bookless Magic," Tezuka said defiantly.

"He also challenged the Temple on policies regarding the bloodline purity and Human Mages," Keigo snapped back. “And defied the Academy. The High Council. _The Primi_ for crying out loud, Tezuka.” Honestly, it made a sick kind of sense that Echizen Nanjirou went and had a half-blood child while in exile. Like a final gesture of ultimate defiance. A barbaric one, in Keigo’s opinion, to use a child – his own son – to do it. But quite to the point.

"He may have been right."

Keigo stared at him, stunned speechless. No one, not even the most rebellious of the young fools, would have dared to utter those words in company of another.

"Tell me you weren't foolish enough to say that to anyone else," Keigo said, too surprised to even try for the usual Cetera-style circumspection.

Tezuka gave him a speaking look, but persisted. "Fuji is a half-Cetera and few pure-blooded Cetera could lay claim to his abilities. Human Mages were once powerful enough to rival Cetera Mages, and that was without the usage of Books."

Keigo rubbed his temples, devoutly wishing for a stiff drink in the place of the tea they were having. "The Book is supposed to be a medium to stabilize and conduct Magic. It's not safe—"

"For whom?"

"For the Council, yes, damn you," Keigo hissed. "And yes, it's the easiest way to track what a Mage is up to. As well as his location. But this is not news, and the last person who tried to bring it up was silenced. The younger generation can hold him up as a martyred hero all they want. But it doesn't change the fact Echizen Nanjirou was neutralized. Confound it, Tezuka, I can't afford to have you of all people bring this up. Not even over Echizen Nanjirou's son. If Fuji is smart, and I rather think he possesses enough intelligence for this much, Fuji will keep that brat just as off the radar and quiet as he has been for the last two centuries."

Tezuka studied him for a long moment. "I never asked you to campaign for my seat in the Council on my behalf," he began, and held up a hand when Keigo started forming a protest. "But I accepted everything that came with the position. Should I not do my part? None of your other colleagues will. But I can."

Meaning, Tezuka had been drawing the fire at least partly on purpose. If Tezuka spearheaded the more radical reforms, even if he failed, it left Keigo free to attempt a more moderate reforms in his wake. Those were usually more successful. That was how the Council managed to agree on a decree to streamline some of the most troublesome parts of the Academy that had needed changes for ages. Like standardizing the curriculum for Novice and Apprentice-Mages and refining the admission process to the Academy. Increased transparency. Not quite a planned benefit when he had Tezuka appointed to the Council as the Ninth, but indispensable nonetheless.

For someone so uninterested in politics, Tezuka's acumen in the field was startling. It also bound Keigo to the other half of the mutual effort, to cover for Tezuka and keep the worst of the fire off of him while advancing their mutual cause at a more sedate pace. A highly dangerous gamble, even then; the Primi's influence was nearly absolute. The Primi combined the religious, the educational, and the secular aspects of Cetera culture, closest the Cetera had to heads of the state. Even Keigo had to admit he'd initially underestimated the Primi. If something did go wrong, if Keigo couldn't manage his part, Tezuka would have been left in the immediate line of fire, much like Echizen Nanjirou had been. Very, very few people would ever have dared to form such partnership even with a family member, let alone a friend. Yet, before Keigo even qualified their relationship in such terms, Tezuka had been quietly doing his part.

"This goes beyond what I had in mind," Keigo said quietly, voice drained of earlier anger.

Tezuka nodded quietly. "I've always tried to do what is practical, until now. But I also plan to do what is right." The minute hesitation that touched Tezuka's expression would have been unnoticeable for anyone who didn't know him as well as Keigo did. "I know the two will not always overlap. The latter part is my own burden."

An offer of a compromise. If Tezuka strayed too far left, where his agendas no longer matched Keigo's, he would not expect Keigo to cover his back. Had it been anyone but Tezuka, Keigo could have chalked it up to the limit of their mutual trust. With Tezuka, it was simply that Tezuka would never dream of bringing down a friend even if he fell himself. And wasn't that why he'd chosen Tezuka in the first place? He'd simply gotten more than he bargained for.

"Try to keep the two together," Keigo demanded, voice low but fierce. "Before I take offense at what is possibly the worst insult a friend has paid to my honor."

Tezuka's face was expressionless with surprise, then the corners of his lips curved upward in a rare smile. "I'll take that under advisement."

An offer of a promise, accepted. Tezuka had gone beyond Keigo’s expectations to help him; it was only fair that Keigo should go beyond the line Tezuka set for them. Like Tezuka, Keigo could do no less than his honor demanded in return. That much, they had always shared.

"We were taught that the sins of the parents do not pass on to the children," Tezuka said, and Keigo blinked at the non sequitur. "We rarely fail to hold the children accountable for the sins of their progenitors. Perhaps we should do the same for our own share of responsibilities."

Keigo turned away with a wearied sigh. "Echizen Nanjirou failed. Would you see his son sacrificed to the same hopeless cause?"

"Echizen Nanjirou was alone. We are not."

When Keigo finally managed to reply, his voice was uncharacteristically soft, with none of the skeptical criticism he'd meant to convey. "You're a hopeless dreamer, Tezuka. Only, you're prepared to give up everything for it."

"It's only hopeless if there is no one to take it up."

Keigo closed his eyes, pressing the back of his hand over them – a gesture he would never have allowed himself before anyone else except maybe Kabaji. "You can't expect others to pick it up. Not after last time."

"To hope and to expect are not the same thing," Tezuka pointed out, unshaken. Not for the first time Keigo thought Tezuka really bonded to the wrong Elemental. Nothing of the fluidity of Water or weightlessness of Air in him – Tezuka should have bonded to the unyielding and stubborn Earth.

"You've changed since meeting Fuji." The words had slipped out before Keigo think better of it. They were more an accusation than observation.

"Fuji didn't change me, Atobe."

Perhaps not. Tezuka would only have changed for himself, not for another, no matter who. Maybe all Fuji provided was a window. An opportunity that Tezuka had long been searching for. And at last, the arrival of one Echizen Ryoma had set the final stage for things already in motion, like a stone thrown into a lake waiting to start the ripples.

"And Fuji? Can he change?"

Because the ambitionless, indifferent Fuji was as different from Tezuka as night was from day. Even if Fuji's arrival had heralded the first of Tezuka's changes, Fuji himself, for all his seemingly fluid and airy appearance, might be even more difficult to change than Tezuka. As he was now, Fuji was the least likely person in the whole Cetera who would support Tezuka's plans. The irony was not lost on Keigo.

"I don't know." Tezuka didn't sound exactly troubled, but there was a hesitance Keigo had never heard from him before. "He did volunteer to take Echizen as his pupil."

Fuji's examination, even with all the misdirection and falsehood from every end, was a popular legend, and despite his questionable lineage, Fuji _had_ been asked to mentor before. More than once. Keigo doubted Fuji took Echizen out of something so inane as pity. But Fuji's reasons, like his secrets, would always remain his. Tezuka was beyond hoping where Fuji was concerned, whether or not Tezuka realized it. An expectation with no ground, a demand without any leverage.

"I suppose," Keigo said slowly, his tone philosophical, "you could always _ask_."

Tezuka surprised him with another of his rare smiles. "I suppose I could." Then, in a softer tone, Tezuka added, "Atobe. Thank you."

Under more usual circumstances, Keigo might have responded with a dismissive, "Don't thank me yet," or "I expect a fair return," or something along that vein. But Tezuka had surprised him enough times today that he was in the mood for something a little different.

So Keigo returned the smile with a slight upturn of his own mouth, and answered.

"You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am attempting to incorporate the notes from earlier parts into the stories themselves. As I do, and unfortunately there WILL be changes, I will remove the relevant notes from earlier parts.
> 
> Atobe’s family story here is...totally not how I envision the usual Chez Atobe. Just so we’re clear. Also, Nanjirou the failed revolutionary is, albeit unlikely, an idea I liked and wanted to explore in the main story, because I thought it could be a really good expansion on one interpretation of his canon motives. Like vast majority of the ideas in the original vision, the idea was nixed for time in the main story.
> 
> This backstory is longer than a chapter. I think I might have problems.


	16. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never saying anything about a chapter needing little revision EVER AGAIN, because the last time I said it for Chapter 3, I ended up re-writing the chapter.
> 
> This time, for Chapter 4, I ended up re-hashing the whole story and redoing the entire timeline.
> 
> To wit: there are some revisions to Chapters 1 & 2, mostly just timeline streamlining and minor details to fit with Chapter 4 (and hopefully the rest of the story). Some story notes are also disappearing because I’m rehashing them and integrating them into story proper and new backstories.
> 
> Clearly the alternate title for _**Et Cetera**_ is _**The Never-Ending Revisionism-Story**_.

_**Et Cetera** _

**Chapter 4**

[Written Feb~May 2006 :: April 8, 2014 Version]

Grass-covered plain stretched as far as eyes could see. The southern parts Oretis were coming into early summer, earlier than other regions as usual, and were green with life. Yukimura kept his eyes fixed ahead in the northward direction. The silver-green forest was not visible yet, but he knew the Gilean Forest was in that direction. On horseback, it would be another day’s ride before the Gilean Forest was on the horizon.

Without slowing down, Yukimura checked his companions’ whereabouts. Sanada was close at heel, body straight as an arrow atop his white steed, and Yanagi some distance away, on his strawberry-roan mare. Yanagi had grumbled at length about traveling on horseback, but they were officially “on vacation” and were expected not to use Magic capriciously. The most Heda’s authority had allowed them was the teleport point from Heda to a small temple in southernmost part of Oretis. Normally, they would have used the large temple complex within Irodea, the capital city of Ketys, but since his coronation several years ago the new king of Ketys had become increasingly hostile to Cetera presence within his realm. It was a troubling change, since the Tachibana dynasty had traditionally been at least neutral, if not friendly, towards the Cetera.

And worst injustice of all, Yanagi insisted, was that while Yukimura’s powers were immense, it did not extend to others. Yes, Yukimura could have teleported himself to Gilean Forest and back in a blink of an eye, but he could not do that with Sanada and Yanagi. Yukimura had joked at one time how he packed a lot of firepower but little else. Curiously enough, Yukimura’s powers were useful in combat situations, both in offense and defense, but not so much for practical, every day purposes. Like boiling water for tea or finding a book in a messy room. None of them had ventured a guess why.

At any rate, Yukimura quite enjoyed being on horseback at full gallop with the wind in his hair, hurtling through the air in thunderous hooves. His black mare was breathing hard, but her nostrils flared in excitement as if sensing her rider’s excitement. So Yukimura urged his horse ever faster to fly across the dark rich land, guiding her through the intricate web of inlaid roads in the countryside of Oretis.

**********

“...so I told Oishi and Eiji I would come at once. I don’t know how long I will be gone, so Echizen will be coming with me. Will you be needing anything?”

Slit ice-blue eyes were distant, and Fuji doubted Castor heard a word he’d said. He sighed softly. Ever since the Vanuk incident, Castor had become quiet, prone to thinking for long stretches of time without uttering a word.

“Castor, what is it?”

The great head lifted, and Castor looked down at him with warmth. “You’ve always known my mind.”

Fuji leaned closer to the Ice-Dragon and waited. One did not rush a Dragon. After a long moment, Castor spoke again.

“Ever since the column of light, the stirring underneath the northernmost peak is gone. I cannot be certain, but I believe a source of great Magic has been removed from there.”

“And all of the Vanuk, gone,” Fuji added. “Do you think that’s what they were protecting?”

“Or guarding. You have not touched the lake water recently.”

“Should I have?”

Castor did not look amused. “It has become warmer. The water temperature continues to rise every day. The lake is returning to what it used to be, long ago, before the War.”

It also meant Lake Genetra was no longer hospitable for Castor. The Ice-Dragon would have to move further north, where the weather remained cooler.

“No Ice-Dragon has lived as I have, so far from the cold northern winds and glacial mountains. I have become too accustomed to green trees and soft grass, and companionship from one not of my own kind.” Castor looked old for once, the ageless strength gone from his lustrous eyes. “Perhaps I have lived too long. No Ice-Dragon was ever meant to live in a world such as this.”

“I would go with you,” Fuji said, unthinking, and blushed when Castor’s great eyes turned to regard him fondly. “I have no place here either. I’m not one of the Cetera.”

Castor’s smile was indeed warm as no Ice-Dragon's should be. A low purr vibrated under his breath, and the Dragon lowered his head until his snout touched Fuji lightly. “You’ve carved out a life for yourself here nonetheless. You have something here you are loath to leave behind.” Protest rose to Fuji’s throat, but Castor nudged him before he could voice them. “As I do. The Pia Mountains are cool enough still. I have time to decide. Go on, child, to Moltania. I will still be here when you return.”

Fuji pressed closer, hand rising caressing the shimmering scales. He should have felt silly how relieved that made him, but couldn’t help it. Castor had been his only family for over 500 years. “I will be back as soon as possible,” he promised, palm flat against the cool neck.

“I will be waiting.”

**********

Atobe impatiently paced in Tezuka’s spacious study, which was currently missing its owner. It was bad enough the High Council was all-astir, the case of the mysterious light from two weeks ago still unsolved and unexplained. And Tezuka had the nerve to go promenading through the Human realms at a time like this? Sometimes, Atobe envied Tezuka’s frank lack of concern about other people’s opinions. But surely even Tezuka wouldn’t be reckless enough to stay out all week. Or so he thought. Apparently he had been wrong.

Lips drawing into a tight line, Atobe stepped closer to the desk, absently glancing over the neat pile of books, all of them ancient and in untranslated High Tongue. Atobe felt a tug on his mouth. If there was one more thing he and Tezuka shared, it was love for language, especially Cetera’s High Tongue. The volumes were unfamiliar, and Atobe made a note to pry where on earth Tezuka had managed to obtain these. Perhaps from the Wind-Dragon Tezuka had befriended as a child; Wind-Dragons were known to be avid collectors of knowledge. He fingered a piece of burgundy string stuck between pages of a book, probably a bookmark, and opened the book to the marked page. On the left page, there was a diagram, circular in shape with intricate inlays. Atobe frowned. It did not look like an ordinary array.

Atobe turned his eyes to the next page, skimming, translating only roughly. The text spoke about the mark that denoted “the sealed ones,” or “the severed ones.” Immortal, with monstrous powers, the bane of the Gods, the ultimate vengeance unleashed by the Ninth.

"Rhea," Atobe whispered. Nowadays, the word Rhea was more commonly translated as "the accursed" or "the damned." But even the Humans knew the word, understood the terror associated with the nightmare creatures of the legends. After a quarrel amongst the Nine, the rest of the Gods decreed the renegade Ninth be banished to the deepest part of the netherworld, but not before it managed to create the Rhea, its final and most terrible offspring with immeasurable powers. Scarce and often exaggerated first-hand accounts made it difficult to gauge the measure of a Rhea's powers, but it was generally agreed dozens of highly skilled Cetera Mages had to work together to even have a prayer of facing one. Some scholars likened them to snakes hidden in the grass, for the Rhea often passed for ordinary Humans for years or even decades before revealing their true nature. Gifted with extraordinary regenerative abilities, which seemed to arrest any sort of aging process and protect against all illnesses, the natural lifespan of a Rhea had never been determined. The only way to kill a Rhea was to first drain its Magic, so that like any being of Magic it would then succumb to a mortal wound.

An elusive, dark presence in the history of the World, it was said Rhea's cruel and savage nature caused countless wars, great and small, culminating in the most devastating of them all: the War of Adamant. Throughout history many Cetera Mages had lost their lives battling the Rhea, the history recorded somberly, whose only instinct was to destroy. But in particular, Cetera's prolonged conflict against the Rhea during the War had decimated the ranks of Cetera. Even now, 5,000 years after the War of Adamant, Cetera's population had never recovered.

But what was Tezuka doing studying the Rhea in the first place? While he often called Tezuka a dreamer, he knew Tezuka never wasted his time on idle curiosity alone. Besides, the last confirmed sighting of a Rhea was during the War of Adamant, during which its kind supposedly went extinct.

“Atobe? When did you come?”

Atobe masked his surprise and merely glanced up with a displeased look on his face. “A while ago. Where have you been?”

“Hessedi. I had to meet someone.”

“Hn.” He had a fairly good guess who that someone was, but kept it to himself along with a faint prick of annoyance. “So what are you doing reading about the Rhea?”

Tezuka did not answer immediately. “I was curious,” Tezuka said at last, and Atobe could not help feeling Tezuka was not telling him everything. Tezuka's area of interest did include the War of Adamant. But the Rhea?

"Why the Rhea?"

“‘Rhea’ is translated as ‘severed’ or ‘sealed’ in the older texts,” Tezuka said, and Atobe creased his brows, unsure if Tezuka was answering his question in an unusually roundabout way, or attempting to change subject. “There are some interesting records about them. But those are few and far in between.”

“They’re an accursed race, shunned even by the Gods. What is there to know about them?”

“Their powers, for one,” Tezuka answered without missing a beat. "They supposedly caused the War of Adamant, and we have plenty of records about the War itself. So why is it that the records about Rhea are so sparse?"

Atobe stared at Tezuka for a moment. “Another hunch?”

“Something like that.”

Then it clicked, and Atobe’s eyes sharpened. “You think the recent incident might have been related to the Rhea.”

“It’s a possibility,” Tezuka said neutrally, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. They always understood each other with no need for lengthy explanations. “There aren’t many possible causes for such phenomenon.” A Rhea would be able to generate light of that scale using only its own Magic for fuel. Tezuka was right; the involvement of Rhea would neatly explain the occurrence.

“We haven’t had a shadow of them since the War of Adamant, Tezuka.” Atobe said slowly. “And even if it was them, why would they want to draw attention to themselves after all this time? They're hard to kill, sure, but it's not impossible. Our ancestors have battled them and won. They must know this.”

Tezuka shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a possibility. One I didn’t want to dismiss offhand.”

“I didn’t know the word 'Rhea' had a different translation in the older texts,” Atobe said, glancing at the diagram. It was complicated design in black ink on yellowed page, but he knew in real life, this mark would be blood-red on the Rhea’s skin, glowing with an eerie light.

“I didn’t, either.” Tezuka was quiet for a moment, then added, "Quite a different nuance, at that."

There was, indeed, a vast difference between being severed or sealed and being accursed or damned. But Cetera's history books were never written without an agenda, one that might not be safe for Tezuka to probe. Atobe tossed his hair back with a huff. “Who cares about semantics in moldy tomes? High Tongue is notoriously ambiguous to begin with.” With a deliberately haughty glance at Tezuka, he continued archly. “Unlike you, I am quite busy splitting my time between the squabbling Council members and the paranoid old men grasping their seats for dear life.”

Tezuka’s mouth quirked. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, then, out of your busy schedule?”

Atobe kept his reply equally arch. “Merely to advise you now isn’t the time to be too friendly with the likes of Fuji. Sanada left for Gilean Forest a week ago, supposedly for a vacation. You know what the Council must be thinking.”

“For Sanada to suddenly stir after half a century-long self-imposed seclusion in Heda, and right after a troubling incident...”

“Exactly,” Atobe drawled. “That’s why you should be careful, too. The Council’s so nervous, they’d jump at a pin dropping.” _Don’t give them any more reason_ , Atobe did not add. He did not need to.

Tezuka’s mouth softened, and he nodded his thanks. With a wave of his hand, Tezuka summoned the teapot and two cups. “Tea?”

“Please.”

**********

Ryoma scowled at Fuji’ back. Knowing that Fuji couldn’t see his expression only made him scowl harder. He could not understand why they had to travel to Moltania on foot, of all things. Even if Fuji did not choose to teleport (and he did have some doubts whether Fuji could do it this soon after his recent injury), they could have taken horses, wagons or even hired stagecoaches. But no. They just had to walk down this dusty mountain path to get there, didn’t they?

“Echizen, you know this path is too steep and narrow for anything but traveling on foot.” Ryoma’s glare intensified. He could just see the complacent smile on Fuji’s smile even without looking. And he knew all that, thank you very much – it didn’t mean he had to _like_ trudging along the rocky path for hours. So Ryoma settled for glaring at Fuji’s back with renewed vigor. Fuji chuckled, never looking back at him. “Maybe you would have preferred to stay home?”

He would have, of course, but he had been worried about Fuji making such a long trip all by himself so soon after being sick. Not that he would admit that out loud. “I’d have been bored at home.”

“Even with your Unicorns?” Ryoma choked, and forgot to glare when Fuji briefly looked over his shoulder with a knowing smile. The Unicorns’ strange affinity to Ryoma was a running joke between Fuji and Kikumaru. And Ryoma was never going to forgive Oishi for mentioning the idiotic legend that Unicorns were attracted to pure-hearted virgins in front of Kikumaru. Was it his fault that Unicorns treated him like one of their own foals? So Kikumaru could shut up about the virgin dribble, thank you very much.

“What’s so urgent in Moltania anyway?” Ryoma asked instead, walking faster to pull up even with Fuji. Although Fuji looked very much like his usual self now, he still seemed a bit pale. What was so important that Fuji couldn't put off this visit?

“Oishi asked me over. Besides, I figured you’d want to see Eiji. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Why would I want to see that noisy idiot?” Fuji only chuckled at Ryoma’s petulant answer.

“I’m sure Eiji misses you, too. Also, it seems Oishi and Eiji have a surprise.”

If Kikumaru was in any way involved, everything was suspect. “What kind of surprise?”

“We’ll have to go to find out, won’t we?” Fuji smiled pleasantly.

Ryoma muttered something uncomplimentary, but did not ask further. He knew from experience that one, he would never get answers from an unwilling Fuji, and two, if Fuji had a mind to make him suffer, then suffer he would, come hell or high water. He might as well just get it over with as quickly as possible.

“Do you want to sing while we walk?”

Ryoma glared. “No.”

“Tell stories?”

“No! What do you think we are, little kids?”

Fuji’s amused laughter was silvery and soft. “You know, you sound just like—”

“Just like what?” Ryoma asked when Fuji said nothing, and realized Fuji had fallen behind. “Fuji?” Fuji’s face was white as sheet, a trembling hand pressed on his forehead. “What’s wrong? Fuji?”

After a long moment, just when Ryoma was beginning to feel the edges of panic, Fuji shook his head. "Nothing," he whispered, finally opening his eyes. "There's nothing."

Ryoma hesitated, then put a hand on Fuji's forehead, fingers rubbing, just a little. At first Ryoma hadn't believed Fuji's claim that he remembered nothing about his past. But over the years, Ryoma had realized Fuji had been telling the truth about that: Fuji remembered nothing of his past before Castor found him, and any attempt to recall his past memories was either useless, or caused debilitating migraines. "Are you all right?" Ryoma asked softly, mindful Fuji was probably suffering a migraine just now.

After a few deep breaths, Fuji nodded at Ryoma with a wan smile. “For a moment, there was... I thought I remembered something.”

“Is it your dreams?” Ryoma asked more cautiously. Ever since Ryoma first came to live with Fuji, Fuji had woken him from nightmares more times than he could count. At first Ryoma'd been ashamed, until he realized Fuji came to check on him because he was already awake from his own nightmares. That Fuji had them just as often as he did, if not more. But in the last two weeks, Fuji's nightmares had gotten much worse, and Ryoma had to wake him more than half of those nights.

"I can never remember them. They just...vanish. Like water slipping through the fingers." Ryoma believed him. He didn't doubt the Cetera must had done countless tests to ensure Fuji was telling the truth when Fuji claimed he had no recollection of his own past. And – even a painful past was better than none, wasn't it? Fuji didn't let on much about his private feelings, but Ryoma didn't think Fuji appreciated having no past.

"Are you sure we should be traveling on foot?" Ryoma asked instead. Fuji's eyes, when they regarded him, were unusually gentle, and Ryoma hastened to add, "If you pass out there's no way I'd carry you, so." Fuji's lips curved in a genuine smile, and Ryoma ducked to hide a blush. The touch that brushed back his hair was as light as a feather, and just as soft.

“Alright. You win.” The usual playfulness was back in Fuji’s voice. Just when Ryoma was holding back a sigh of relief, Fuji suddenly pulled him close.

Ryoma sputtered. “What are you doing?”

“Hold still.” Fuji’s voice was rich with amusement. “We’re going to teleport to the southern edge of Eastern Greenwood.”

“You sure you’re not going to pass out in the middle?” Ryoma asked blithely. He was doing his best not to squirm at the sudden closeness, at the startling warmth of the contact. Fuji rarely indulged in casual touches, and despite living together for ten years, Ryoma couldn’t remember the last time Fuji was this close to him.

Actually, he was kind of trying not to think about how nice it felt.

“I’m sure. Don’t let go of me.”

Ryoma curled his fingers in Fuji’s travel cloak, and managed a nod. “Okay.”

A flash of light, and they were gone from the mountain path.

**********

The wooden cup dropped to the floor with a splash of water.

“Sister!” Taichi cried, rushing to her side. She did not answer for a moment, her eyes unfocused, before she crumpled to the floor, body limp and lifeless. Taichi barely caught her, though he was too small to support her weight. He made a sound of dismay as they both went down. “Are you all right?”

A moment later, she stirred with a soft sound in her throat, and Taichi sighed in relief. When she had one of her episodes, sometimes, she wouldn't wake for hours. Today’s seemed to be one of the short ones. “I’m all right, Taichi,” she said softly, and Taichi hugged her.

“What happened?” Taichi asked, cradling her the best he could. She moved to sit up, leaning on him just a little bit.

“Another flashback,” she said, sounding tired, but composed. “I remember more and more with each. I think I will remember everything very soon.”

“Do you have to?” Taichi asked before he could stop himself. She looked up at him with gentle eyes, and he flushed. “You already know your name. You can stay here as long as you want.”

“Taichi,” she said in the gentle tone that always made him want to hug her. “You helped me when I was alone and helpless. You’ll be my family no matter what.” She pulled him into her lap, and Taichi found himself wrapped in a warm embrace. “Always.”

“Will you stay after you remember everything?” Taichi asked, burrowing his face on her shoulder like a kitten seeking comfort. “With me and mama and papa and Michi?” She did not answer, and he tightened his arms around her neck. “Will you, Yumiko?”

Yumiko rocked him slowly, like a mother trying to calm a frightened child, but Taichi felt even less at ease when she did that – it felt too much like she was trying to soothe him _because_ she knew everything wasn’t all right. “I don’t know, Taichi,” Yumiko finally answered. “It...it may not be safe for you, if I stayed.”

Taichi’s arms tightened even more. “I don’t want you to go.”

Yumiko rubbed a soothing hand over his back and did not answer. They stayed like that for a long time.

**********

“So that’s the great City of Irodea, the capital of Ketys,” Yanagi remarked.

The stone walls, gray and forbidding, rose over the plains of Irodea like an imposing giant. It was a fortress city nestled in the cradle of the Seven Mountains, with River Meryl flowing directly on its eastern side. Rich land of Oretis surrounded the city on the west side, but to the south of the city, the fields of Irodea were devoid of life.

“No one knows why the fields of Irodea became barren,” said a quiet voice. Yukimura was looking at the barren, sun-bleached field with thoughtful, dark eyes. “Or how. No vegetation grows on the fields surrounding Irodea since the War of Adamant ended five thousand years ago.”

“Did something happen here?” Sanada asked. He did not like it when Yukimura had that look in his eyes, one that said he was walking somewhere in the memories of a lost past; Yukimura never seemed more distant, or more otherworldly, than when he was half-lost in his memories.

“A great battle was fought here,” came the inflectionless voice. “It saw the last of the Ice-Dragons, among other creatures. The river ran red with blood.” Sanada shivered at the lifeless tone. Yukimura sounded so clinical, so detached, describing the horrors of the War of Adamant. Perhaps that was the only way one could recollect something so horrid. “A battalion of Cetera hunted down a group of Sprites, Dragons and Human Mages, and a few of something else. Something more potent.” Yukimura paused. The village ahead of them looked so peaceful, just in the outskirts of the Seven Mountains, and it was almost surreal to imagine anything like a bloody battle had happened there.

“In fact, you could say the Cetera’s objective was to destroy the few remaining ones in the opposition. The rest were merely in the way, but not the true threat.” Yukimura did not speak again for a long moment.

“Who were the ones in the opposition?” Yanagi finally asked, when Yukimura didn't continue for a long moment.

Yukimura’s eyes darkened, then cleared, refocusing to here and now. “I don’t remember. That was the important part, but I cannot remember. My memories regarding the end of the War are...unclear. Confused.”

“Do you think someone could have tempered with your memories?” Yanagi asked carefully. Sanada gritted his teeth. It might seem inconceivable, given how powerful Yukimura was, not to mention both Yukimura’s body and mind were not exactly like that of Human or Cetera. But tempering was still a possibility, if a remote one.

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel very deliberate or organized, if it was.”

Sanada cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Seiichi. Was that related to the reason you wanted to stop by Irodea first?”

Yukimura blinked at him, then smiled. “Actually, no. I wanted to see Irodea because it’s been a long time since I’ve visited.” His expression gentled. “I’ve made you worry again.”

Sanada cleared his throat again. “You seem unhappy when you speak about the War of Adamant.”

“It’s not a pleasant memory,” Yukimura agreed.

“At any rate,” Yanagi interrupted. “We’d better go seek lodging for the night. I don’t fancy camping out again. And the villages are within sight.”

“You just want to wash your hair again,” Yukimura teased, but urged on his horse. Sanada’s lips twitched.

“I merely care about good hygiene,” Yanagi replied with dignity.

Sanada, unable to help himself, commented. “And I’m sure brushing your hair hundred times a night is merely for hygiene, Renji.”

Yanagi shot him an affronted look, but Yukimura started laughing, and he let it go. The three of them urged their horses to walk faster, their conversation once again light and full of good humor.

The village they stopped at for the day was a small one, within the sight of the royal city. They dismounted and headed to the town’s only inn. Two small children, the older no more than eleven or twelve, came running, playfully chasing each other.

“Michi! Taichi! Slow down,” a young woman called after them, but the little girl only giggled and waved at her.

“Yumiko! Hurry!” In her moment of distraction, her brother managed to catch up with her, and swept her into a bear hug.

“Gotcha!” Little Michi screamed with laughter, squirming, but her brother only held her tighter. Yanagi smiled, probably recalling his own little sister from their childhood. But on Sanada's other side, Yukimura had gone still.

Concerned, Sanada put a hand on Yukimura’s shoulder. “Seiichi...?”

Just then, the siblings, pushing and pulling with no regard to where they were going, collided into Yukimura. The young woman who had called to them earlier came running over, alarmed. “Taichi! Michi!”

“We’re fine, sis,” the boy called back, extricating himself and his sister from the minor collision. Sanada steadied Yukimura with a hand, and gave the two children a very stern look. The young woman was now within an arm’s length, taking the children in each arm with a disapproving look.

“I told you not to run so fast,” she chided, and looked up at the three with a smile. “I must apologize for that, sirs.”

And she froze.

“That’s all right, madam,” Yanagi replied on their behalf, since no one else did.

“Cetera.” The word dropped from her lips like a curse, and both Yanagi and Sanada started. They wore no sigils of Cetera today. To avoid notice they had deliberately chosen plain traveling cloaks rather than the official black cloak and the seal brooch of the Cetera, with gold trims denoting their status as Archmages. Yet this woman had recognized them. Only those with Magic could recognize another being of Magic. But Sanada could feel nothing from her. Yanagi’s frown of confusion told him his friend had the same baffling realization.

“What are you?” Sanada’s head snapped back to Yukimura, realizing it was Yukimura who had spoken. “I know you. Your Magic,” Yukimura continued, but despite the quiet voice, there was a thrum of tension in his body, like a bowstring stretched too taut.

The young woman's attention, however, was entirely on Sanada and Yanagi, and didn't even seem to hear Yukimura. “You’re Cetera,” she repeated. Her eyes narrowed, tightening her hold on the children, and pushing them behind her. "Why are you here?"

Sanada’s eyes widened, sensing a rapid buildup of energy inside the woman that could only be Magic. But her Magic was unfamiliar, unrecognizable, and frightening in its magnitude and speed. No Magical being, not even an Elemental, made of pure Magic, could call its power so quickly.

“How dare you come here?!” the young woman screamed, and the children, looking just as shocked as the two Cetera, clung to her with soft cries of distress.

Sanada did not have time to call out a warning before the Magic inside the woman exploded into a column of light, enveloping everything in blinding, white fury.

**********

The iridescent waters of Aeterna stirred with purpose as the mist gathered around the growing light. Three figures, shrouded in the mist, hovered above the lake, just over the growing light, peering through the curtain of mist down at the light. The figure in the center held out a hand, and the mist seeped away, writhing like a mass of living snakes coiling away from the light. Without the mist smothering it, the light grew in intensity, shimmering through the water like a beam of sunlight, until finally, a scarlet glow appeared in the center, a tiny speck of crimson in the pale shell of light. The three of them glanced at one another, their fear confirmed.

“The oracle has awakened once more,” a voice announced darkly, and the three of them recoiled from the light at once.

"Then..." trailed off another voice in a faint whisper.

"Our worst fear has come true. The Hyrhea is loose in the World once more," said a voice, wizened and weary. "We must hurry."

Another wave of a hand, and the mist poured back, ruthlessly suppressing the light, and before long, the light was gone.

**********

“Whoa!” The carriage lurched to a halt as the horses went wild. While the driver calmed the frantic horses, a head peeked out from the window of the carriage.

“What happened?” the man demanded. He wore a white bandana on his head, and looked displeased by the sudden halt. “We are already late. His Highness must be anxious for our arrival.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Ishida. The horses suddenly went wild,” the carriage driver answered, apologetic.

“You’re usually a much better driver than that, Sakurai,” Ishida replied, a light smile tugging on his mouth.

“...Captain,” Sakurai said very quietly. “Over there.”

Ishida looked, and his eyes widened. There was a column of light near where Irodea should be, a column of pure light reaching up to heaven, almost an exact replica of the incident only a few weeks ago.

“Why have we stopped?” A warm voice inquired from inside the carriage. 

“The sky, your Highness,” Ishida said quietly.

A heart-shaped face appeared from behind the curtains, peeking curiously. Brown, cropped hair brushed her chin as she tilted her face, looking at the sky in disbelief. “Take me there. No,” she said calmly, belying the spark of excitement in her eyes. “Bring my horse.”

“But your Highness...!” the captain protested, but she silenced him with a look. A soldier came leading a beautiful black mare, her coat lustrous even under the darkening sky, saddled and ready for her rider. The princess opened the carriage door and stepped outside without help, and the captain hurried to follow her. “Your brother will not be happy to hear about this,” he warned, expression wry but resigned.

“You mean, _if_ he hears about it,” the princess answered with an arch look, and mounted her horse without even glancing at the hand the soldier offered. She sat in her saddle like an experienced rider, and waited only long enough for Ishida to mount his own horse before urging her mount into a quick canter. With a sigh and a quick shake of his head, Ishida signaled the retinue to follow, and sped his horse to the princess’s side.

As they entered the village where the column of light originated, the light abruptly disappeared. The princess did not slow down, riding into the town at full speed, followed by Captain Ishida and her retinue. She only slowed when she reached the center of the town, where they could see three men facing a young woman, collapsed on the ground, with two children at her side. Immediately, she led her horse forward before Ishida could stop her.

**********

When the column of light disappeared as if never been, there was an eerie blood-red light flickering on the young woman's throat, forming a strange, circular mark. A hand pressed on her forehead the woman swayed, pale and shaking. The two children clung to her anxiously. The boy called her name again and again, the little girl was crying softly.

“The column of light from that time...it was her, wasn’t it?” The Yanagi inquired in a soft voice. “It was the same Magic.”

Sanada's eyes were fixed on the red mark on the woman's throat. "Is that...?"

“The mark of Rhea," Yukimura answered steadily, and everyone within the earshot froze. Accounts varied on the actual patterns that formed the mark, but everyone had heard of the legends, how the glowing red mark was the sign of a Rhea. The ones who caused the most terrible war in all of the World's history, the War of Adamant, the stories of horror from which passed down from generation to generation even in the forgetful memories of the short-lived Humans.

"An accursed one," Yanagi whispered, and couldn't help a shiver.

"You call me accursed," the Rhea answered, voice wrecked with pain and bitter anger. "Yet it's your kind that hunted down my family and slaughtered everyone in my village when they refused to surrender me."

The young woman on horseback was watching closely, her eyes darting back and forth from the Rhea and the three of them. Yanagi was acutely conscious of the way the two small children clung to the woman in distress, the woman physically shielding them as if from mortal danger. The pain in the Rhea's eyes, her grief – they were all very real. Yanagi recognized the look very well: the same eyes had greeted him every morning in his mirror ever since Inui died. But so was the fire of fury turning her eyes incandescent.

The young man who arrived with the young lady on horseback looked visibly strained. "Princess An, please," he murmured quietly, and Yanagi held back a wince. Princess An of the Tachibana family. The famously beloved sister to the current king of Ketys. The princess ignored her escort.

"Genichirou," Yanagi called quietly. If this was indeed a Rhea, she was far out of their league. Not to mention, the last thing they needed was a very public incident in the presence of a Human royalty. And the Rhea hadn't attacked them. Yet. "Seiichi," he added, more urgently.

"You hold the answers I seek," Yukimura said, as if he had heard nothing. "I was searching for you."

The Rhea only glared back, keeping the children firmly behind her. Her rage was of pain and protectiveness alike, like a mother protecting her young – the most dangerous animal of all even if their adversary hadn't been a Rhea. "I'd kill you where you stand, Cetera," she spat, "if there were no innocent eyes watching. Get out of here before I change my mind."

Yanagi's brows creased. If she really had the power to kill all three of them right now, why would she wait? The famed monsters in the legends didn't hint toward mercy or moral scruples against killing before the eyes of children. The roar from a toothless lion was the loudest one...

Sanada finally turned his attention from Yukimura to the Rhea. "If you're a Rhea, it is our sacred duty to bring you to justice, before the High Council."

"Justice?" The Rhea sounded incredulous. "Whose justice? Yours? You, who murdered your own kind – my mother – for refusing to give up her daughter? You, who massacred an entire village for refusing to help you dispense your brand of justice?"

Yanagi narrowed his eyes, suspicion beginning to form. She was still talking rather than simply attacking them despite her clear desire to do so. Whatever her story, however she might threaten, the woman wasn't going to use her powers against them. Perhaps couldn't.

But before anyone could answer her, Princess An nudged her horse forward, effectively putting herself between them and the woman. "Enough," she said coolly. Her stern gaze passed over the Rhea, the two frightened children huddled behind her, and came to rest on the three of them

"I am Tachibana An, princess of Ketys, sister to the king," she announced in a clear, ringing voice. Not for anyone else's benefit but the Cetera present, Yanagi noted shrewdly; more than half of the distracted Human spectators had already noticed her presence and were respectfully bowing their heads. Which was another thing worth noting. Tachibana family had always been well-liked by their subjects, but the current monarch and his sister were especially adored by the populace. Another good reason not to cause a scene in her presence.

"The Kingdom of Ketys allows neither Cetera's uninvited presence in our domain," she started, and paused. Her eyes on the Rhea and the two children, she continued, voice like a ring of steel. "Nor interference with a guest of the royal family."

The Rhea's eyes widened in surprise. Yanagi couldn't help but share the shock. Did the young princess know what she was getting into? And Sanada's brows were drawing together, storm gathering in his dark eyes. Then Yanagi saw a spark of desperate hope in the Rhea's eyes, and it confirmed the last of his suspicion. Even if worst came to worst and they had to fight, they had Yukimura. A Rhea was powerful, yes, but so was Yukimura, a child of the Gods. If the Rhea wasn't willing to fight, so much the better. Perhaps they could contain this problem without anyone getting hurt, provided the young princess didn't act rashly.

"Your Highness," Yanagi addressed her with a slight bow. "Our apologies for the commotion. However, this is a serious Cetera business. We cannot ignore the presence of a Rhea. We ask you to graciously permit us to fulfill our duty."

Fire flashed in the princess's eyes. "Cetera business or not, this is our land," she snapped. "I hold the king's official signet ring in my hand. I am his emissary. You are within sight of the royal capital of Ketys. If you dare oppose my orders here, we will consider your action a challenge to our sovereignty."

Yanagi noted the stubborn lift of her chin, the strength of her fierce gaze, and her hand, where a royal signet ring indeed shone. Most unusual for Ketys, whose traditions frowned upon women's participation in affairs of state. It seemed the rumors of Ketys's young monarch's unorthodox reign had been truthful. "Your Highness," Yanagi tried again, voice calm, the picture of rationality. "If you hinder our purpose, we have no choice but to carry the news back to the High Council of Cetera. Especially if you are the emissary of the king," Yanagi continued, directing a pointed glance at the signet ring on her finger, "and represent his authority and his will." Yanagi paused, and added, "The will of Ketys itself."

There was a hint of annoyance in her gaze, and her escort stepped forward before she retorted back a reply. "Her Highness indeed holds the king's signet ring as his ambassador," he said firmly. "Though the king's permission is required to grant official refuge to a foreigner." His words were both a support and a reminder, and the princess smiled briefly.

“Then, I shall present this matter to my brother personally. In the meantime, we do not suffer Cetera business in our kingdom _without permission_.” Sanada’s lips tightened, but as Yanagi expected, he said nothing: royal permission was indeed required for Cetera to conduct official business in a Human principate. Theirs wasn't an official business - not yet - and certainly not sanctioned by either the High Council or king of Ketys itself. And to be more practical, unless they were willing to expose Yukimura's presence, continuing here and now would be most unwise. Likely that was the principal reason behind Sanada's reticence. From their silence the princess divined her triumph, and her lips tightened even as their corners lifted a tiny bit. "Captain Ishida, please have your men escort out our Cetera guests."

Defeated, Yanagi glanced over at Sanada, who still had a hand on Yukimura's shoulder, and Yukimura, who never took his eyes off the Rhea even once, taking no notice of anyone else. Sanada didn't move, but gave him a short nod.

"There will be no need to trouble your men, your Highness. We will see ourselves out," Yanagi said with a hint of irony, and sketched a quick bow to the princess, who limited herself to a simple nod of acknowledgement. “Shall we? Genichirou, Seiichi.”

Reluctantly, Sanada and Yukimura mounted their horses, and followed Yanagi to leave. As they turned their horses around, Yukimura cast a last look back at the proud princess and the Rhea woman, who regarded them with undisguised hatred, and his eyes were uncharacteristically troubled. None of them spoke until they were well clear of the village.

“Seiichi?” Sanada sounded unusually gentle. “I will have to report this. A Rhea is a serious matter. I can't leave this alone. The High Council must be informed.”

That much, Yanagi concurred. "Even if Ketys foolishly harbors a monster in their midst, we have a duty to protect all life." By all accounts the Rhea were dangerous and without conscience or morals. They had been the principal cause of the War of Adamant: their blind ambition to overturn the Gods' decrees, to rule the World as they saw fit. The exiled Ninth's highest achievement, and the chiefest bane of the Gods, ones that brought about the greatest of the calamities in the World.

"A duty to protect all life..." Yukimura echoed him, voice quiet and subdued. Both Yanagi and Sanada looked at him, struck by the tone. Yukimura's eyes were dark in the evening's fading light, like a starless sky. When he spoke again, his voice was still quiet, but rang like death knell.

"That's not why Cetera fought Rhea five thousand years ago."

****

**END OF CHAPTER 4**


	17. Shades of Blue, 02. Inui & Fuji - Drachenkind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second in the “Shades of Blue” arc, on Inui and Fuji. 5,825 words. Rated SG for Sadly G.
> 
> I tried and tried but couldn't edit this. Possibly this clunky mess is what this story was meant to be like. I may have to do some minor revisions later.
> 
> Subtitle is a pun, of sort. The song included is from the movie _**Beowulf (2007)**_.

**Et Cetera: Shades of Blue**

_2\. Inui & Fuji: Drachenkind_

[Written June 2012] [5/5/2014 version]

_Lips, ripe as the berries in June,_  
 _Red the rose, red the rose._  
 _Skin, pale as the light of the moon,_  
 _Gently as she goes._  
 _Eyes, blue as the sea and the sky,_  
 _Water flows, water flows._  
 _Heart, burning like fire in the night,_  
 _Gently as she goes._

 

The door bell jingled, shattering the afternoon lull.

The visitor, a young man of perhaps twenty summers, peered around nervously. “Mage Inui?” he called when he saw no one. “Mage Inui!” he called louder, and after a moment, a door leading to the back of the house opened, and a tall man came out wearing stained white smock over what appeared to be crumpled shirts and trousers. The young man swallowed nervously, unsure how to proceed now that he was here.

“Yes?”

The Mage had a deep voice, but it wasn’t unkind, and the young man relaxed minutely. “I’m here to...that is... I wanted to ask if you could give me a potion. You know, magical potion?”

The square-framed glasses glinted in the light filtering from the windows. “I have many. The question is which one you desire. But pray – sit.” Mage Inui gestured to the simple wooden table with chairs.

The young man sat nervously. “W-well, I heard that you have a lot of...interesting potions.” The health-improving ones in particular were notorious for their taste. It was said a single sip was enough to bring down a full-grown man. But it was also a well-attested fact those foul concoctions worked. “I need something to protect me. Maybe make me invincible.”

The Mage’s lips twisted, but his expression was hidden behind the glasses. “What for, might I ask?”

“I’m going after a Dragon!” the youth exclaimed with barely contained enthusiasm.

The announcement was met with a short stretch of silence and a raised eyebrow. “You’re after a Dragon’s hoard? You do realize Cetera laws protect the Dragons and their property?”

“Not the hoard,” the young man said with disdain. “I’m going to rescue a fair maiden held captive by the Dragon.”

The other eyebrow rose to match the first. “Are you now? And what makes you think this Dragon holds a maiden captive?”

“I met someone who saw her!” His enthusiasm gave way to a dreamy look as he continued. “He said she was more beautiful than the moon.”

“Ah.” Sardonic amusement had returned to the Mage’s expression. “Perhaps the lady wishes to remain with the Dragon. After all, I doubt anyone’s asked the lady’s opinion on the matter.”

The young man gave him a look of pure disbelief. “What mad creature would keep company with a Dragon? Dragons are—”

“—Extremely intelligent creatures of powerful Magic. Armed with razor-sharp teeth and claws, immense strength, and a ferocious temper befitting a true predator. All of which will be used against you if you dare transgress into their lair.” The Mage shook his head. “There is no potion that could make you invulnerable. Nor shield you from a Dragon’s Magic. Give up this quest. It’s foolishness.”

“Never,” the young man’s voice trembled with heroism. “Not while this beautiful maiden remains in the Dragon’s foul claws.”

Mage Inui said nothing.

“And if you have nothing that can help me, my courage will be my shield!” The youth sprang to his feet. “I am not afraid of anything.” Squaring his shoulder, the young man prepared to leave.

“Wait.” Mage Inui rose and swept back into his workroom, then returned a moment later. “Take these. The green vial will give you strength, and the golden vial will heal injuries. But do not use more than a sip at a time, or you may not live long enough to regret it.”

Startled, the young man stammered out his gratitude, counted out a dozen coins, and left.

**********

Once the door closed to the jingle of the bell, Inui let out a sigh he’d been holding. It seemed young fools were stirring up yet another trouble. The Dragons and the Cetera respected each other, but only because they were aware each could easily become a powerful ally or enemy. By an agreement the Cetera protected the Dragons and respected their territories while the Dragons maintained friendly relations with the Cetera and kept from harming the Humans or other Sprites. Most Human rulers had enough wisdom to honor the agreement. Of course, there was also the fact without it, very little would stop the Dragons from attacking Human villages. By large, the Dragons treated the wingless, Magic-less and defenseless Humans with a degree of amusement and contempt, much as Humans might hold for some intelligent but inferior species of animal. And much like how Humans would be reluctant to eat apes, Dragons usually disdained Humans as a source of food, however easy it was to catch them. But Dragons were fierce defenders of their own territories – which Humans unwittingly or knowingly transgressed on occasion – and were relentless in pursuit of vengeance once wronged.

Dragons varied by species in appearances as well as temperaments. However, all of them shared indomitable pride and fierce loyalty to one’s clan or species. Most Dragons were natural-born collectors, though the hoards rarely ever consisted of actual treasures Humans so eagerly sought. From spirited and quick-tempered Fire-Dragons, the curious and even-tempered Water-Dragons, to the shy, gentle Wind-Dragons, each individual Dragon collected only what appealed to it, which could be anything from unusually-shaped pebbles to books, scrolls, or works of art. But Human maidens, however beautiful, were rarely ever part of a Dragon’s coveted hoard, what with the Dragon-kind's idea of beauty being quite different from that of the Human-kind.

Ah well. This whole hunt was most likely a wild goose chase. With a small shrug, Inui dismissed the whole affair from his mind, and went back to his workroom. The spicy red potion he’d been working on was finished, but he was already hard at work with his next. A blue one, with more vinegar. If he could adjust the taste just a little bit...the prototype stung his eyes even as he worked. Perhaps a bit less lemon juice, and more grated cheese?

**********

It was well past dinnertime that Inui emerged from his workroom. His blue vinegar potion wasn’t finished, but he’d made an alternative red version. If he could just stop the bubbling (which produced toxic fume), he could call the new red potion finished. It wasn’t as spicy as the first one, either. Deciding it was too much work to try and cook dinner for himself, Inui headed to the nearest tavern.

There was an unusually large crowd gathered at the tavern when Inui arrived. There was even a wandering bard singing to a hand-held harp. Behind his glasses, Inui couldn’t help rolling his eyes in exasperation. The song – predictably – was about a beautiful lady. The one of the Dragon fame, no less. The bard had a good voice, and his skill with the harp was commendable, but the crowd's attention was elsewhere: at a grizzled hunter talking loudly at the center of the tavern, surrounded by a group of men in traveling clothes and even more locals.

“...and them silver scales, they shone like ice under the moon! I’ve seen me share of Dragons, me lads, but by thunder if this weren’t the biggest I ever seen!”

“Silver?” Inui realized he’d spoken without thinking. His voice was drowned under the tumult, but his thoughts were racing. Fire-Dragons had red scales with a hint of gold. Water-Dragons had deep blue scales with green-blue shimmer. Wind-Dragons were pale green in color, with deeper emerald green glimmer when they were under direct sunlight. None of them would have silver scales, however. Inui pushed through the crowd to the speaker. “You say your Dragon’s scales are silver? You’ve really seen this Dragon with your own eyes?”

“Aye,” the hunter replied firmly. “Silver as me pa’s beard, lad. And how white it gleamed, this Dragon!”

The tavern owner was looking half-worried and half-amused. Inui never bothered with any of his Cetera insignia unless he was on official Cetera business, which was never. This man was obviously a traveler and had no idea he was addressing a Cetera Mage. Just as well. If he’d known, Inui doubted the man would speak so frankly. The hunter was already halfway through his plan of gathering strong young men to hunt down the Dragon and rescue the maiden, describing what weapons they would need. The local residents were hanging onto his every word, greatly entertained. Tiny, independent city-state of Pyris had enjoyed an undisturbed if fragile peace for several decades. A rogue Dragon was the most exciting thing to happen in years.

But silver... There were two kinds of Dragons that became extinct during the War of Adamant. One was Earth-Dragons, whose scales were naturally brown, but had a tendency to take on a similar hue as the soil or rocks in their surroundings. Colors such as dark brown, tan, gold, and even gray had been recorded, but never silver.

The other was Ice-Dragons, the most powerful of the Dragon-kind, residing only in the frozen northern lands. Their scales were rich, lustrous silver and shone with iridescent pale-white glow under the moonlight. Quiet, solitary, and rare even before the war, the Ice-Dragons had long since become a mythical creature, even to the Cetera.

“Where did you find this Dragon?” Inui asked.

“Where the River Eredia becomes two,” the hunter replied readily. “Up on the rocky banks, there be a deep cave.”

Ice-Dragons did favor caves near river-banks. “When did you see it?”

“Not a fortnight ago. On the night of the full moon.”

Inui refrained from rolling his eyes. A fortnight ago was a quarter-moon at best. However, Ice-Dragons were indeed nocturnal. The hunter's story, unlikely though it was, did make a coherent picture.

“But I never heard of a Dragon being silver,” said one elderly man, stroking his white beard. “Red, a-plenty. Blue if you dare cross the Lake Averdin. Green, up in the mountains, they say. But silver – never.”

Humans had much shorter memories than the Cetera did, largely owing to their short lifespan, and the legends of the Ice-Dragons did not survive in Human folklore. Unless the hunter had fabricated the whole account and accidentally hit upon the right description.

“I tell you, the Dragon was silver! It was huge! And the maiden – the likes of her I never seen before. As beautiful as the moon she was, the lass.”

It was an impossibly long shot at best, finding any Dragon, let alone an Ice-Dragon, so near a busy city like Pyris, but...

Without another word, Inui strode out of the tavern.

**********

The way he figured it, at best it was a drunken vision of a rustic hunter and he would find nothing. At worst, however, it really was a solitary Dragon, in which case he would need to locate it quickly before the poorly-informed group of Humans started on an ill-advised hunting expedition which would only get them slaughtered. A highly disciplined company of fully-armed knights accompanied by an experienced Mage would not have guaranteed success against a Dragon, let alone a ragtag band of farmers, traders, and small-game hunters. Inui made sure to take his official Cetera insignia and robe. Most Dragons would listen to a Cetera even if they would disregard a Human.

The last quarter’s moon was bright in the western sky when he stopped his horse near the northern tip of the Pyris Delta. It was at this point that the River Eredis split around the large landmass it once deposited and cultivated near its mouth. He scanned the banks, searching for anything resembling a cave. Near half an hour of frustration later, a glimpse of a light sparkling across the river caught his eye, and Inui halted. There was another fleeting flash, and Inui spotted what looked like a cave opening on the banks of the eastern branch of the river. After a moment of hesitation, he guided his horse to the nearest ferry. His blue-roan horse nudged Inui when he tied the rein to the wooden post near the ferry, head cocked as if asking why Inui was leaving alone. Inui chuckled. He’d chosen Remus not for speed, but for steadfast strength and quick intelligence.

“I know you can swim just fine, Remus. But there could be a Dragon across the river, and I don’t know if it’s hungry or not. Best to not take any chances, no?”

Remus snorted. Inui patted the horse’s neck affectionately, and boarded the ferry. After the rope slid away, Inui took a deep breath, keeping his eyes in the direction where he’d seen the light. If there was, in fact, a Dragon waiting on the other side, he could very well be walking into a volatile situation. No Dragon would roam alone so far into Human territory without a good reason. It could be something simple, like injury. Or it could be that this one was an outcast, an exile driven out of its clan, in which case any attempts at negotiation could very easily prove fruitless. Either way, he needed to find out and contain the situation as quickly as possible.

The ferry knocked into the dock on the other side, and Inui jumped off, mooring it to the posts. Then, he resolutely walked toward the cave, though he kept a wary hand on the hilt of his Ralt.

There was a flutter of white near the cave mouth, and Inui frowned, but did not hurry. Only the most foolhardy would rush in recklessly with insufficient data. He was alone, potentially in the presence of a Dragon, and no guarantee his offer of truce would be accepted. Cautiously, he approached the mouth of the cave.

The flutter of white mingled with long, light brown strands, and Inui took an involuntary breath. Long brown hair rippled gently in the breeze. The strands were so fine that moonlight seemed to shine through them. Under the snow-white cloth was an equally-pale back, bare to the night wind. Slowly, the figure, swathed in white, turned.

_Lips, ripe as the berries in June...skin, pale as the light of the moon...eyes, blue as the sea and the sky..._

Inui stared, the song from the tavern ringing through his thoughts. No lady, this. A young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age. It was easy to see, especially with long hair trailing down to the ground, how the hunter had mistaken the boy for a maiden. Those blue eyes stared back, devoid of fear, wiped clean of any emotions.

A step forward, then another, and a sudden flash of silver-white arrested his movement. Inui gaped, awe-struck, as a great gleaming figure rose behind the boy. Majestic, magnificent, and terrible, liquid grace wrapped in lethal danger, iridescent silver glowing pale under the moon – a true Ice-Dragon, in the flesh.

The Ice-Dragon regarded him without animosity, but with intelligence and wisdom of the ageless that made Inui feel distinctly small. Slowly, very slowly, Inui sank to one knee, and placed the Ralt on the ground beside him with an audible click of metal on stone. Then, rising with both hands open and in full view, Inui met the Dragon’s eyes.

And bowed deeply.

For a long, terrifying moment, nothing happened. Then, a gleam of white entered his field of vision as the Ice-Dragon returned the bow. Keeping his movement slow and steady, Inui straightened, and met the Dragon’s eyes once more.

“I am Inui Sadaharu of Cetera, Mage of Pyris, at your service,” Inui said formally.

The Ice-Dragon gave a shallow nod. The great head bent lower, the snout almost touching the boy’s shoulder. The boy’s lips curved slightly in a smile, leaning back into the touch. “I am Castor of the Ice-Dragons. And this is my child...”

Impervious to Inui’s gasp of shock at the introduction, the Dragon continued as if he didn’t notice.

“...Fuji.”

**********

Soft footfalls on the steps made the old wooden boards creak. Inui looked up, and raised an eyebrow. Dressed in a simple shirt and a pair of close-fitting trousers, and his hair cut short, Fuji looked like an ordinary Human – or Cetera, Inui amended to himself – youth. Still attractive, yes, but very little of the wild, feral beauty from their first meeting lingered. Memory of that night made Inui clear his throat.

“So. You look more...” Inui hesitated. More Human-like sounded wrong, but Cetera-like was even less appropriate. “You look less out of place,” he finished, embarrassed.

Fuji shrugged. “Castor didn’t care what I looked like.”

No, the Ice-Dragon wouldn’t have cared. Inui inhaled carefully. A Dragon adopting a half-Human was nothing short of miraculous, and certainly had never been documented before. But Inui knew Castor meant it in every sense of the word when he called Fuji his child: no other reason would have induced the Ice-Dragon, quite possibly the last of its kind, to brave Cetera contact. Nothing about Fuji, not the way he looked, nor who or what he was – none of it would have mattered to Castor as much as Fuji’s happiness and well-being.

“I’m sure he didn’t. But you’ll notice others will.”

Fuji hummed, noncommittal. “The Cetera?”

“You’re not...you’ve never dealt with the Cetera before, have you?”

“No.” The blue eyes were suddenly shuttered, bright yet flat, and Inui was grateful, not for the first time, that his glasses hid his eyes. This was dangerous even without an Ice-Dragon looming overhead, and if he didn’t handle this well, he could very well have a problem at hand. And the Dragon, Inui was certain, had only consented to leave Fuji in Inui’s care because he was confident he could eliminate Inui at any time he chose.

“So much better if you were to avoid them in the future, then.”

“I have to.”

Inui sighed. He’d figured as much. From the start he’d felt the Magic of a Cetera in Fuji, and doubtlessly Castor must have as well. Then, a thought occurred to him and he frowned. If Castor had wanted to contact the Cetera for his adopted child, he could have contacted a Cetera Temple directly. No Human hunter would have seen Castor or his cave had the Dragon not wished it. Whereas a report of a Dragon-sighting within Human territory would have brought an investigator, either from the High Council of Cetera or the local government.

One investigator. Solitary, without a backup. Because Cetera’s High Council wouldn't bother to authorize a team unless the sighting of a Dragon was confirmed as true.

“You and Castor. You were lying in wait for a Cetera to find you.”

To force a better bargaining position, because one Cetera Mage, however powerful, wouldn't have a prayer of defeating a Dragon on his own. Whichever Cetera Mage sent would have been utterly at the Dragon’s mercy. Fuji's smile grew, becoming as cold as Castor’s element – a reminder that even on his own, miles away from his Dragon guardian, the boy was hardly harmless.

“If the Council finds out,” Inui said quietly, “Castor will not be left alone. Neither will you.” Fuji’s eyes had turned icy, and Inui felt a prickle of chill. Steeling himself, he continued. “Since I have no pressing need to inform the Council, they will simply have to wait for a formal introduction. In the meantime, you’ve got some studying to do.”

Fuji stood completely motionless, and again Inui was reminded of his Dragon guardian, and the unnatural stillness with which Castor held himself. It was a waiting stillness, like a predator weighing a potential prey, calculating whether the prey is worth the effort of capture. After seconds ticked by in tense silence, Fuji moved to join him at the table, and Inui let out a careful breath. The innate grace behind Fuji’s movement was unnervingly reminiscent of a scaled body coiling, and it was only when the smile curving Fuji’s lips warmed that Inui relaxed.

“That I do.” Another pause, and Inui would wonder, much later, if there had been hesitation lurking underneath in that short moment. “Thank you, Inui.”

The words were unexpected. Inui blinked in surprise, but saw the peace offering for what it was. So he nodded back, simple and honest.

“You’re welcome.”

**********

“What are you looking at?”

Fuji did not turn around, eyes still fixed on the small frame sitting on Inui’s desk. “Who’s that?”

Inui stepped closer, and saw the small portrait that had captured Fuji’s attention. “Renji.” He paused, and corrected himself. “Archmage Yanagi Renji, of Heda.”

“The capital city of the Cetera. On the flying landmass created by the Gods.”

Only Fuji could make that statement sound perfectly unimpressive. “Right.”

“You two look so young in this portrait.” Fuji’s fingers traced the gilded wood lightly. “Were you close?”

_Were you close_ , and not _Are you close_. Inui’s lips twisted wryly. Of course Fuji would pick up on the fact the small portrait he always kept on his desk was not a recent one. “We grew up together in Heda.”

“You said you were born in the Human World.” Fuji’s matter-of-fact tone carried the nuance of a question.

“All Cetera children start their education in Heda. Once a Cetera reaches the age to enter mentorship, he must go to Heda to study at the Academy until a mentor can be assigned. Until the child earns the Mage certification, he cannot return to the Human world unless in the company of a certified Mage.”

“And if the child’s mentor chooses to stay in the Human world?”

Inui stared wordlessly for a moment. Fuji always asked him the strangest questions, and he had to remind himself Fuji wasn’t raised among the Cetera. Besides which, Fuji was also curiously ignorant about much of the World for all his quick intelligence, lending support to his claim that he remembered nothing about his own past before Castor found him, improbable as it sounded at first. “It’s the mentor’s prerogative. But no parents would entrust their child’s education to a Mage who doesn’t reside in Heda.”

“So...all the great Mages live in Heda?”

“Those with prestigious lineage or distinguished accomplishments, yes.”

“You live here, though.”

Inui sighed. “My research isn’t in a respected field. After my Mage certification, my application to further my studies at the Academy was rejected.”

Fuji hummed, neutral, noncommittal. “You create potions to help others. Why is it not a respected field?”

“Potions aren’t studied widely by the Cetera. For a Cetera, nearly all potions’ effects could be replicated with a spell, a weave, or an array with even less trouble. One would only need knowledge of potions if one dealt with a large volume of Human patients on a daily basis. Those who seek contracts with Human kingdoms aspire to become court Mages, and would not have frequent dealings with the sick or the injured.”

Fuji’s lips twitched. “It wasn’t because the Academy’s committee found the taste of your potions disagreeable?” A hint of teasing entered his voice. “Though I fail to see why your customers object to their taste so much. I find them quite palatable myself.”

Fuji was the only one who did. He’d also taken to naming the potions after Inui confessed his first green potion was called by the admittedly prosaic name of Special Vegetable Juice. So the golden potion was named Golden Remix, the red one Penal Tea, the red vinegar potion Akazu, the blue vinegar Aozu, and so on. Fuji’s affinity to his potions sometimes frightened even Inui. Had Fuji not passed out after sampling Aozu, Inui would have questioned if Fuji truly was mortal. (And Inui had the strangest feeling Fuji held a grudge over that Aozu incident.)

“It was the application for the Cetera. Or the lack thereof,” Inui defended himself with as much dignity as he could muster. “The Academy would much prefer fields such as High Tongue or ancient literature. Recently, Renji attained his Archmage certification with his research on Tablets of Rissida. Though I heard his new interpretation was considered quite radical.” Perhaps aware of that fact, Yanagi had immediately abandoned the study of ancient literature in favor of Magical artifacts.

“So you keep in contact with Yanagi.”

“Archmage Yanagi,” Inui corrected automatically. “Somewhat. His family wouldn’t welcome me at the Yanagi estate, anymore.”

The blue eyes studied him, but there was no expression in them. “And Yanagi?”

Inui thought better of reminding Fuji to use the proper title. Even after six months, Fuji claimed he could never remember the correct titles, which Inui thought was rather rich coming from someone who seemed to possess an eidetic memory for information. “We exchange correspondences on occasion.”

“Mm.” Fuji picked up the frame, and Inui nearly reached for it before stopping himself. “Why don’t you invite him here?”

“No,” Inui said immediately. At the look he received, he sighed and pushed up his glasses. “He’s an old friend, but he has stronger affiliation with the Council than I do. I do not wish to place him in a difficult position.” And he did understand that, even if it hurt when Yanagi abruptly cut off all communication over a century ago, just before they were to undergo testing for Mage certification. Inui family had always been considered eccentric, and the fact his parents chose to reside in Human world, scandalous. When they were children, Inui’d believed such things wouldn’t matter between them, until the cold dawn of reality came knocking in hand with adulthood. Right after their Mage certification, Yanagi had been accepted to the Academy where he hadn’t – an empirical proof Yanagi’s precaution regarding personal and professional associations was well-founded indeed. Inui had always been a gifted scientist, and knew unlikely odds when he saw one. Instead of wasting time trying to court the Academy’s attention, he’d accepted a contract with Pyris and left right after.

Better to stay at a place considered dead end and stay out of the High Council’s way while the high and mighty concentrated on the mop-up in the wake of Echizen Nanjirou’s solitary rebellion – and exile. While Inui never made it a habit to trouble himself with politics, he’d watched with growing cynicism as the Council cracked down on any new ideas, so eager to prevent the rise of another Echizen Nanjirou. Not that he thought another one-man revolt would help; too many of Cetera’s leading families were firmly entrenched in the past. In vainglories and sacred purposes as empty as the air in which Heda roamed endlessly.

It was one thing to question the Council. Every form of social structure, no matter what species, had its share of complaints against its own chosen form of governance. But the more time Inui spent in the Human World, the more disillusioned he became about the entire Cetera society, from its history in equal parts aggrandized and falsified, its stilted purpose, to its sanctimonious yet prejudiced perception of the World. Hell, it had been over fifty years since he’d bothered to visit Heda, Council edicts on yearly pilgrimage be damned.

“So you don’t see each other at all anymore.” Fuji’s eyes were penetratingly clear. “Was that your idea? Or his?”

“It’s none of your business, Fuji,” Inui snapped. No one, not even his own family, had ever dared to ask him this question to his face.

Fuji, for his part, seemed to take no offense at the outburst. “No, it isn’t.” After a short pause, Fuji added, voice gentler, “My apologies.”

Inui knew his nod was less than gracious, but Fuji didn’t seem to notice. But – even Inui himself hadn’t realized this was a sore point. It wasn’t fair to hold it against Fuji. “It’s...” Inui swallowed. “It’s fine. Did you finish the book?”

“Yes.” Fuji studied him, but Inui was growing used to the way Fuji constantly watched him, so did not react. “Do you have any more on the subject of mixed-bloods?”

Inui considered. “Not from my private collection. I might be able to—” Ask Yanagi to borrow some books from Heda’s extensive system of libraries. The Academy in particular boasted of the biggest library in existence. Yanagi had kept his contact to a minimum for well over a century, but had started writing to him on a regular basis some time ago. Fifteen years ago, to be exact. It hadn’t escaped Inui’s attention that the timing coincided with Yanagi moving to the Sanada estate. After a series of unforeseen tragedies, Sanada family’s second son, Genichirou, had succeeded as the head of the family, and invited Yanagi to come live at the Sanada family estate. That was when he begun to suspect the decision to sever ties with him might not have been entirely Yanagi’s own. If he asked now, Yanagi might be amenable to doing him a favor. After all, lending books was an expected courtesy between two Cetera scholars.

“Let me see if I can get something from Heda.” Getting books from the Academy’s central library would be best, but it was also riskiest. For starters, Yanagi or Sanada might have something useful in their private collection. It was worth a shot. “Sharing of knowledge is an expected virtue among the Cetera. A Cetera can always ask to borrow books from the libraries or private collections. It’s quite bad manners to refuse.”

“Private collections first, then?” Fuji’s jab was quick and accurate, but light. “You know, I could go gather potion ingredients for a day or two easily enough.”

Inui was aware how dangerous it was to invite someone from Heda while the Council was ignorant of Fuji’s existence. But if Fuji stayed with his Dragon-guardian, who was waiting not far from the city, patiently enduring the warm climate of Pyris to remain near his charge, it was unlikely that their presence would be even noticed. Besides, lately Fuji had mostly kept to Inui’s house to study. Visiting Castor for a few days while Yanagi visited might even be a nice break for both Fuji and Castor.

Eventually, Fuji would have to be introduced to the Council. No doubt the Council would insist Fuji be given ‘proper’ education in Heda first, but after the Mage certification exam Inui knew Fuji would ace, Fuji would be able to live where he wished. No doubt Fuji would pick somewhere his Dragon guardian would be comfortable. Somewhere up north – in the mountains, maybe. Inui was still apprehensive time to time; Fuji claimed to have no memories before being found by Castor a few decades ago, but for all his professed ignorance, Fuji was frighteningly at ease with Magic. Inui had all but flipped out when he learned Fuji was bonded to two Elementals already – Fire and Water – and used them on a daily basis. And then he was doubly flabbergasted when he realized Fuji had no idea what Elementals were and how they worked in the first place.

Even among the ranks of the Archmages, not everyone could bond successfully with two Elementals. Bonding with two of opposing nature was truly rare. Though Fuji was careful, Inui had caught enough glimpses of his power to know the Council would be extremely wary of him. Thinking about it, inviting Yanagi sounded more and more like a good idea. If nothing else, he needed some support within Heda on the matter of Fuji.

Inui shook his head. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about Fuji’s fate. Perhaps it was the feeling of kinship for a fellow outcast. Born and raised in the Human world, shunned for his interests in Human affairs, those of the commoners at that, Inui had spent all of his adult life as an unofficial pariah among the Cetera. For all that Cetera professed love for all living things, the Cetera had a curiously intense disdain for everything that wasn’t Cetera, and studying Humans or Sprites was considered an inferior pursuit. By the same token, a mixed-blood child was looked upon with not a little bit of secret horror, that a Cetera was willing to taint the noble bloodline with a creature not of the same blood. In theory only the parents were punished for breaking the taboo, and half-blood children were given the same rights as full-blood Cetera children. In practice, half-blood children were subject to prejudices and restrictions that allowed them anything but a normal life. Fuji, too, would be subjected to the same.

But, for whatever reason, Fuji had chosen to leave the safety of Castor’s lair and join the Cetera. The rest wasn’t up to him, no matter how Inui felt about the decision.

“We’ll see. If there is a need, I’ll give you a heads-up.” Inui added, almost as an afterthought, “And a shopping list.” If Fuji was going under that pretext, he might as well actually gather potion ingredients while away.

Fuji’s short laugh was warm and amused. “Understood.”

**********

And so months turned to years, and Fuji’s extended stay continued. Inui secretly had Yanagi introduced to Fuji, and to Inui’s relief, they took a liking to each other, even if only with Inui himself as the link. And Inui was grateful to be reconciled with Yanagi, even if he never expressed it to Fuji in so many words. Fuji, like a pebble thrown into a lake, had quietly but subtly changed his life. With his inscrutable smiles and veiled secrets and easy friendship unhindered by politics, Fuji had introduced a little piece of anarchy and rebellion into his existence. Fuji’s views, completely unhampered by tradition or centuries of indoctrination, opened his own to a different way of defining Cetera’s place in the World. And Yanagi...

Inui fingered the sapphire crystal with a rueful smile. Fuji would smile and talk about nothing in particular and make it very clear he should just talk to Yanagi. And really _talk_ , about things that mattered, not about theology or magical artifacts or theories behind new weaves. And Inui knew it was cowardly of him, even if Fuji never called him on it, to avoid talking to Yanagi honestly.

Perhaps later. They were Cetera. They had more time than one would ever need, could ever want. For now, he would focus on crafting the Ralt for Fuji. A Ralt was a gift to commemorate a personally significant occasion in a Cetera’s life, such as reaching Apprentice-Mage status, and usually given by the parents or the mentor. Inui was neither.

What he felt for Fuji wasn’t gratitude. His relationship with Fuji was based on mutual aid, given out of necessity or as a repayment. Nor was it protectiveness – Fuji hardly needed his protection, and in fact Inui had every reason to suspect Fuji was more powerful than he was. But this was something he _could_ do for Fuji. So he’d chosen the material for the Ralt with the greatest care, and pulled quite a few strings to obtain the flawless sapphire crystal he planned to set in its hilt. The spells for a Ralt weren’t difficult, but were very exacting and intensely time-consuming. And Inui had every intention to make it into a masterpiece, and poured all of his meticulous attention to its creation.

Bit by bit, under the patient strokes of polishing cloth in his hand, the enchanted metal started to gleam.


	18. Shades of Blue, 03. Tezuka - Espada, I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today marks the eight year anniversary of completing Et Cetera, on July 18, 2006. Well, the main story part. Sort of. 
> 
> Thank you for following Et Cetera. And for your eternal patience. Because without it you’d have given up on this story already. ♥
> 
> Espada means sword in Spanish. It was meant to be a Tezuka/Fuji backstory, but it turned into an 8,000-word monstrosity, so I’m splitting it into three parts. This being me, Espada is two-thirds Tezuka/Fuji backstory, and one-third Tezuka backstory. This part is about 2,000 words of completely G events, taking place a couple centuries before the main story timeline.
> 
> Posted mostly unedited. I may have to revise this a bit later.

[Originally conceived February 2005; Re-written May-July 2014]

[7/18/2014 version]

**Et Cetera: Shades of Blue**

  
_3\. Tezuka: Espada_

**I.**

Being a Cetera meant living a life surrounded by ceremonies. Everything in a Cetera's life, from birth to death, was a convoluted tangle of rituals with varying degrees of importance.

Tezuka, like most Cetera, did not remember much about the first decade of his life. He knew his parents had given a lavish celebration for his Name-giving ceremony, exactly one hundred days after his birth, even if he remembered nothing. He still had all the gifts from the guests who attended his Name-giving set aside in a chest in his old nursery room. He'd seen it once or twice, but the trinkets meant little to him. In fact, he'd forgotten about their existence until his two hundredth name day, when Atobe Keigo brought it up.

"My parents were very proud, obviously. The jeweled egg symbolizes the World, and I'd chosen it as if I knew what I was destined for." Tezuka belatedly recalled the custom of offering the Name-giving gifts to the baby on the first name day anniversary, with the antiquated myth that the first gift the baby chose would foretell the baby's future. "So what did you choose, anyway? A book?" Atobe chuckled. "Knowing you, it must have been a book."

"I don't remember," Tezuka answered honestly. First name day anniversary was important, but a private family affair. His parents would know, but neither of them had ever mentioned it.

"Anyway, my parents are going to throw a magnificent banquet for my four hundredth name day. They promised. Besides, it will be a good chance to check on our allies and rivals. You'd better think of a fitting gift by then. Your choices in gifts are atrocious."

"You liked the book I gave you last time—"

"Yes, yes. But you only ever give books. Honestly, Tezuka. Try not to be so predictable, will you? And it's not just any name day. It's my four hundredth name day."

Which would not come for nearly another century. Tezuka briefly wondered if Atobe came only to solicit gifts beforehand. Nonetheless, Atobe had made him curious about his own choice of Name-giving gift on his first name day anniversary. He made a mental note to ask his mother before his parents left for another long trip, and continued to keep in step while Atobe spoke about more plans for his four hundredth name day.

The next day, during a rare lunch together with his mother, Tezuka asked her what he’d chosen on his first name day anniversary. She gave him a surprised look, and did not answer immediately.

“Why, Kunimitsu. You’ve never asked me that before.”

“It’s not important,” he reassured her. “Yesterday Atobe mentioned he’d chosen jeweled egg on his first anniversary. I merely wondered.”

His mother was silent for so long, he wondered if she’d forgotten, after all. It _had_ been two hundred years. She surprised him, however, with a gentle sigh. “I suppose you’re old enough to know. Well, then, I will tell you: it was the sword.”

“Sword?” One-year-old Cetera was an infant still, barely able to sit up. Offering a sword sounded excessive.

His disbelief must have shown, because his mother smiled at him. “Not a real sword, of course. A small dagger, actually. The one you chose was a gift from your father’s father.”

“I don’t remember seeing it.”

She gave him a half-smile. “I kept it. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. Your grandfather had the blade sharpened when he gave it to you, although he had the foresight to give you a sheath to go with it. It’s really quite beautiful. I’ll give it to you before I leave.”

“Thank you.”

“Kunimitsu,” his mother began, then stopped. After a moment of silence, she shook her head. “Never you mind. I think you’ll quite like it. Your grandfather was beside himself with joy when you chose his gift.”

Something about her expression made Tezuka wonder if she hadn’t shared her father-in-law’s pleasure at his choice. The next moment, however, she changed the topic, and they did not speak about the dagger again.

The day his mother and father left for yet another journey, Tezuka found a small, carefully wrapped roll of silk on his desk. Inside, he found a small dagger with intricately decorated sheath and hilt, and a note rolled up and tied with string. The blade slipped free from the sheath with a surprising ease, gleaming in pristine silver. As he pulled it out completely, the tip of the blade skidded over the rolled up parchment, and the brief contact was sufficient to severe the string. Tezuka returned the blade to its sheath more carefully, mindful of the razor-sharp edges.

When he unrolled the note, his eyes immediately recognized the familiar handwriting.

_Dear Kunimitsu_ , his mother wrote. _I hope you will forgive me for withholding this from you for so long. I suppose it’s silly of me to mind old superstition so much. Besides, this was your choice among dozens of gifts, and you have a right to it. Know that you, my dear child, are the greatest gift of my life. Love always, your mother._

His mother was unusually affectionate for a Cetera, but her short letter was both sincere and oddly emotional. Unsettled, Tezuka rolled the note around the dagger, and wrapped them in silk again, and placed them inside the top drawer of his desk.

With a slight shake of his head, Tezuka opened his book, and started to study for the lesson with his mentor in the afternoon.

**********

The next time his choice of Name-giving gift came up, Tezuka was celebrating his success in Archmage certification exam, as well as his acceptance into the Academy’s program for further studies.

More accurately, his family and peers were celebrating. He was mostly counting the minutes until he could leave without seeming rude. The celebratory banquet was lavish, taking place in the Academy’s well-tended and beautiful central garden, specially opened to the public for the occasion. The mood was raucous and full of good cheer, and understandably so: attaining Archmage status was difficult, and less than five percent of the entire Cetera population ever managed it. Luckily for him, his grandfather, who had made a special trip home, was handling most of the congratulatory overtures as the official head of Tezuka family. His father and mother nonetheless had their share of greetings to exchange, and Tezuka ducked behind a large pillar when their latest well-wisher started talking about the necessity of early preparation for nuptial plans.

“Hiding from another would-be bridegroom hunter?” lilted an amused voice in his ear, and Tezuka nearly jumped. “You do realize you can’t hide forever, Archmage Tezuka.”

“Archmage Yamato,” he said in greeting, bowing respectfully. “Thank you for all your guidance over the years.”

Before Tezuka could start on the requisite thank-you speech, his mentor grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Save the rest. You’ve made it through this one and you’re ready to take on the next one. Archmage today, Order of Aras tomorrow.” Yamato didn’t wait for his reply. “The Academy’s board was highly impressed with your paper. And the translational Magic is a difficult topic, not to mention a potential hotbed. Explains why you like it, but even I was a little concerned when you chose your subject. But I guess all’s well that ends well. So, I’m guessing Ayana’s not worried about your Name-day gift choice anymore?”

Tezuka had long since become used to the non sequitur leaps in a conversation with Yamato. But Yamato’s last comment caught him by surprise: it just figured his mentor would know about his choice of Name-giving gift. Actually, given how close his mentor was to his mother, Yamato probably knew before Tezuka himself ever found out. “Why would it cause her worry?” he asked instead of voicing his irritation. He’d known his mentor for a long time, and knew irritation was entirely counterproductive when dealing with Yamato.

“You never did take to divination,” Yamato said, sounding genuinely regretful, and Tezuka had to redouble his effort not to twitch. The art of divination was an optional subject of disputed importance, taken only by pupils studying for a career in the Temple. And Tezuka never had the patience for vague, abstract, and largely useless cesspool of obscure and conflicting symbolism. “Well, you do remember the cards, though? For fortune-telling?”

“Yes.”

“Those cards are a relatively recent development, but their symbolisms stretch back much farther back in time. In particular, the four suits symbolize the four elements that make up the physical World: fire, water, air, earth. Sword represents air. Same as your Elemental, coincidentally.”

“Coincidentally,” Tezuka echoed, a little pointed. Divination was one of several passions Yamato shared with his mother. They probably thought he was fated to bond with the Air from the start.

“Yes, well, not so coincidentally, it also symbolizes conflict.” Yamato’s grin was quicksilver and bright. “As well as mental pursuits. But of the four suits, the suit of swords represents the most difficult battles to be fought, the hardest choices to make. In more laymen symbolism, the sword is the symbol of masculinity and strength. In the more ancient symbolism, the sword also represents judgment.” A hint of seriousness entered Yamato’s voice. “And justice. It is a tool meant for someone who isn’t afraid to fight for what is right.”

Tezuka thought of the cautious undertone just barely buried under the festivities around them, and the reason behind it. Of Echizen Nanjirou’s rebellion, expulsion and the aftermath. Consciously, he relaxed his hands, letting them hang loosely at his sides.

If Yamato noticed Tezuka’s tension, he gave no sign of it. “Of course, these days people substitute the sword with something less dangerous, like a pen. Or don’t bother having a sword as an option at all. But the four gifts go way back in our history. Partly because they were originally meant to gauge what element the child is most closely aligned with. Not that such test is accurate at the age of one, but that was the general shape of it.”

Four gifts. Four suits, four elements. The wand for fire, the cup for water, the sword for air, and the coin for earth. Even now, the most frequently bestowed gifts for Name-giving ceremony included cups, gold coins, and some variation of a wand. But a dagger was rare indeed. And with what it symbolized, that was no surprise.

“And so you see why a mother might be just a tiny bit worried about her child choosing a sword of all things,” Yamato said, voice effortlessly cutting through Tezuka’s thoughts.

Tezuka did. “She returned it to me after my two hundredth name day,” he said in lieu of an answer.

“Did she now? Good.”

Puzzled, Tezuka frowned. “Why?”

“I understand your mother’s reasons for hiding it,” Yamato said, and his voice was kind. “But no parents can make choices for their child. A child isn’t an extension of his parents, after all. Sooner or later, a child must learn to choose his own path, and bear the responsibility for his own choices.”

That much he already understood. His mentor had always preferred to have him figure out his own answers rather than teaching them to him. He’d preferred the same. There the two of them were alike, even though they were otherwise as different as could be.

“Tezuka,” Yamato called softly. Tezuka looked at him, startled by the clear ring of affection in his mentor’s voice. “You are the best pupil anyone can dream of having. Trust yourself. And always keep in mind one thing. The Elementals choose the Mage, not the other way around. And they have a knack of choosing only the ones most suitable for their own natures.”

“I understand.” Tezuka had learned to respect the Elementals from Yamato. It was a lesson that served him well when he bonded to Air, his first Elemental. And his second, Water. “Thank you, Archmage Yamato, for everything,” he said, voice quiet and sincere, bowing deeply.

Yamato smiled at him warmly, and bowed back. “It has been an honor,” Yamato replied just as formally. “And my greatest pleasure to be your mentor. Best of luck in all your future endeavors, Tezuka.”

Tezuka inclined his head in silent thanks. Yamato clasped his shoulder warmly, then turned to leave. Just before walking away, Yamato craned his back to give him an enigmatic smile.

“One last thing: the sword has a way of choosing only a hand capable of bearing its weight. So bear your choice proudly, and well.”

With those as parting words, Yamato was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fortune-telling cards mentioned are tarot cards or some variation of it, but I didn’t use the word tarot since Et Cetera takes place in a universe completely different from our own. First part of Espada alternately could be called the Ace of Swords, actually. :)


	19. Shades of Blue, 03. Tezuka - Espada, II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the Two of Swords. It's 3,390 words of G-rated interaction. And a first meeting. :)
> 
> Due to the lack of time, it's quite rough. I may revise in the near future.

**Et Cetera: Shades of Blue**

  
_3\. Tezuka: Espada_

[Originally conceived February 2005; Re-written May-July 2014]  
[8/3/2014 version]

**II.**

From the beginning of their history, the Cetera were not very fertile. After the War of Adamant, their population had never recovered. Every family counted themselves lucky if they had two children, truly blessed if they had three, and nothing short of miraculous if they had four or more. Tezuka himself was an only child, like most of the peers his age group. And like all other Cetera children, Tezuka was brought to the Lake Aeterna at the age of ten, received his Book, and formally entered the Academy. Only at the age of thirty was a Cetera child eligible to take the exams to become a Novice-Mage and leave the Academy under private mentorship. But until the child obtained Mage certification, bulk of his education continued in Heda, closely tied to the Academy.

It meant those in the similar age groups all knew each other. Inui Sadaharu was older than Tezuka, a little older even than Atobe. But everyone knew Inui because his eccentricities made him stand out as much as his brilliance. Along with Yanagi, Atobe, and Tezuka himself, Inui was one of the top five pupils in Heda. But Inui was obsessed with potions, which was a minor subject at best, heedless of the derision he attracted from his peers for having such a Human interest. No matter how many times the Academy lectors urged him to focus his formidable faculties elsewhere, Inui stubbornly pursued his chosen art. Although Tezuka didn't have much interest in potion-making himself, he nevertheless respected Inui for both his intelligence and persistence.

There should have been a huge shock that after his Mage certification Inui wasn't accepted in the Academy's scholarship program, a requirement for anyone wishing to pursue the status of the Archmage. But they were young, not stupid. None of them were ignorant of the political upheaval that was reverberating through all of Cetera after Echizen Nanjirou. Even Yanagi, Inui's best friend, had taken care to put distance between himself and Inui. Tezuka, like Atobe and other like-minded youths, was more indignant than surprised at the turn of the events. But no matter what the rest of them privately thought, Academy's decision was final, and Inui left Heda for Pyris, a Human city.

Certainly it wasn't his place to judge, but Tezuka wouldn't have avoided Inui had they been best friends, even if their association hindered his own career. Perhaps Inui had known that. It would certainly explain why Inui chose to contact him after nearly a hundred years of staying virtually exiled in Pyris. Both surprised and intrigued, Tezuka sent back a reply that he would drop by when he next visited the Human World.

**********

The trip to Pyris posed little hardship for Tezuka. After attaining Mage certification, he often traveled to the Northern Vales to see his friend, the Wind-Dragon Morgiana. And Morgiana was fond of him enough to give him a ride whenever he requested.

Once Tezuka arrived, Inui seemed oddly hesitant to broach why he'd requested Tezuka come visit him. The polite circumspection of the Cetera had always annoyed him, so Tezuka, after another look at Inui's guarded expression, decided enough was enough.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Inui's lips quirked. "I see you haven't changed a bit. I have a request."

Tezuka did not reply, wordlessly inquiring what Inui wanted.

"I found a half-Cetera. He needs to be introduced to the Council, and I rather doubt I would be a good person for that."

That much was true. While Tezuka could see why Inui would ask him to make the introduction, it puzzled him why Inui would bother. "You plan to take him as your pupil, then?" 

Inui paused. After a brief moment of silence, his lips twitched. "No."

Tezuka frowned. Few Cetera would be willing to take on a half-blood as pupil. If Inui wasn't going to mentor the child himself, then why go through the trouble of introducing him to the Council at all? "How old? His parents?"

"Unknown," Inui replied quietly. "He doesn't remember anything about his past."

That was about as suspicious as it could get. The Council would definitely have issues with this. There were ways to erase memories, although such spells were forbidden. Spells and weaves affecting the mind often had unpredictable results and unpleasant side effects, and were strictly regulated. Perhaps the parents had cast it on the child to protect themselves from the repercussions of having a half-blood offspring. Given the kind of punishment they would suffer it was understandable, if morally reprehensible. But it would leave the half-Cetera alone to face hardship and deep-seated prejudice amongst the Cetera, who emphasized blood purity so much that intermarriage with Humans or Sprites was one of the three great taboos.

Of course, that was assuming the child would be accepted at all. "You're certain of this child?"

Inui suddenly smiled. After a moment of consideration, Inui spoke. "Tell you what. Why don't you meet him and decide for yourself?"

Something about Inui's tone, like someone handing over a really difficult but rewarding puzzle, intrigued him. "Very well."

Inui rose and excused himself, disappearing upstairs. While Tezuka waited, the back door opened and a young man with brown hair entered, friendly smile hiding his eyes. "Oh, hello," the young man greeted, his arms full of flowers Tezuka didn't recognize. "I didn't realize we had a visitor."

A hired help wouldn't be so at ease, Tezuka decided. But the last he heard, Mage Inui Sadaharu lived alone, and had no pupil. And there was an unsettling feeling, something that tugged at his senses, separate from Inui's unique Magical signature.

The young man filled a vase with water, and set about arranging the flowers, trimming the stems with a small knife. His hands moved quickly, sure and agile, putting flower after flower in place. Tezuka, despite himself, found his attention drawn to the arrangement. "Where did you get the flowers?"

"I picked them. Wildflowers are in full bloom in the fields outside," the young man explained cheerfully, never taking his eyes off from his arrangement. Stiff green leaves stuck out from between the flowers, and Tezuka frowned. This was nothing like orderly, harmonious arrangements customary to the Cetera. For the Cetera, flower arrangement was an art, but an art zealously regulated. Each arrangement must suit the occasion and setting, and arranged to perfection in terms of size, color, and flower choice and meaning behind each. This young man was putting the vase together seemingly with no order, no thought, and no organization. Everything stuck out at different lengths, green leaves and stalks here and there, a cacophony of colors and shapes. Finally, the young man stepped back to examine his work.

And Tezuka simply stared.

The finished arrangement was... Tezuka had no word for it. Like a piece of nature had sprouted right out of the vase. It was exactly like the fresh wildflowers in bloom in the mountains he loved, brimming with vigor and life, transplanted to the middle of a large city.

"It's a little piece of nature. The best we can have, here in the city," the young man said, as if reading his mind, and Tezuka started. The polite thing to do, of course, was to compliment the arrangement.

"That's not I find up in the mountains," he said instead.

The young man's smile widened. "Yes, but the fields around here have different flowers." The young man picked up the vase and carried it to the table where Tezuka was sitting, and set it down at the center. "From the way you speak, you must visit the mountains often."

"When I can," Tezuka admitted. Part of the reason for his trips to the Northern Vales was to see Morgiana, but the other part was the climb up the mountain to her lair. Just when Tezuka was about to ask who the other was, Inui returned, looking frustrated.

"I'm sorry, Archmage Tezuka. It looks like he— Fuji!"

Fuji smiled at him. "I didn't know we were expecting a visitor."

"I told you last week," Inui replied dryly. "I thought you went upstairs to read?"

"I finished early," Fuji answered, unconcerned. "It's spring. We should have some fresh flowers in the house."

Inui shook his head. "Well, since you two have already met. Archmage Tezuka of Heda, may I introduce Fuji Syuusuke? Fuji, Archmage Tezuka Kunimitsu of Heda."

Belatedly, Tezuka realized this must be the half-Cetera Inui was talking about earlier. Not a child at all. A fully grown half-Cetera. At least that explained the odd pull on his own Magic. Although, it also meant this one's Magic was active and developed enough to attract his own. How on earth had this half-Cetera escaped the Council's notice for so long? Especially when every Cetera was so closely monitored from birth to death, through the Book vetted by the High Council and the registry kept by the Temple?

"You wish to join the Cetera?" Tezuka addressed his question directly to Fuji. Fuji was old enough to know his own mind, but he should have fair warning about what joining Cetera entailed. That was, if Inui hadn't already tried to dissuade him and failed. There were certain hints of closeness between them that bespoke of time spent together. Inui couldn't possibly have found Fuji yesterday.

"Yes," Fuji replied, unhurried and calm.

"You do understand what it entails." It wasn't a question.

Fuji smiled. "Enough of it."

Tezuka family was a prestigious family even in Heda. Generations of his family, both his mother's and father's side, had served in the Council, the Academy, even the Temple. His closest friend, Atobe Keigo, was a seated member of the Council. Many would consider it his duty to ensure by his introduction he wouldn't be endangering the rest of the Cetera.

Tezuka's eyes were drawn back to Fuji's flower arrangement, then to Inui, and finally to Fuji himself, smiling with an unchanging, inscrutable calm. "I will think on it, Mage Inui."

Inui, oddly enough, seemed quite pleased. "Thank you."

Fuji merely smiled at him, giving away nothing at all, like the most polished of the Heda's elite might. But underneath was a glint of something nothing could quite mask, something he'd glimpsed at in the small drop of fresh outdoors Fuji created right before his eyes. Tezuka found he wanted to see more. Not for the good of the Cetera. For himself. And it had been such a long time since someone intrigued him this much.

"I will come visit again," Tezuka said, both a promise and a warning, only to see Fuji's smile widen.

"Looking forward to it."

**********

With Morgiana's help, it was easy to squeeze in a trip to Pyris every time he traveled to the Human World. It was on his fourth trip that he found Fuji alone, finishing up a large batch of potions on his own.

"Oh, good. You're just in time to help me lift some heavy crates," Fuji said cheerily as soon as he entered. "Inui's helping out with a fever outbreak in the city," Fuji supplied before Tezuka could ask, stacking the bottles neatly into an empty crate. "You can take that one, Tezuka." Fuji had a persistent habit of forgetting proper titles and was so informal, even Tezuka was startled time to time despite not standing much on ceremonies himself.

Atobe would have been severely annoyed, both at the lack of propriety as well as the presumption, asking the Tezuka family heir to help with manual labor. Besides which, there were several spells that could help one move heavy objects, which Inui couldn't have failed to teach Fuji.

"Why don't you use Magic?" he asked as he held the door open for Fuji.

Fuji moved past him with such unconcerned air, it felt silly to question why Fuji insisted on doing this manually. "What for? I can easily do this by hand." Fuji put the crate in the back of the wagon, then returned for the next one. "But if you're worried about getting your hands dirty, I suppose you can use Magic."

Something about Fuji's tone grated on his nerves, and Tezuka pointedly followed him, carrying a crate tucked under one arm. "Most Humans would prefer to use Magic if they had a choice," he pointed out, loading the wagon next to Fuji.

"Most Humans get along just fine without Magic. It's only Cetera who seem quite helpless without it. And Humans can do pretty much everything Cetera can do." Fuji slanted an amused look at him as he picked up the next crate. "Eventually, Humans will be able to do things Cetera can't do, with or without Magic."

The Cetera viewed Humans as adults might view young children. They might intervene, even protect Humans, but would never dream of putting Humans on the same level as themselves, the Gods' own chosen. Cetera were created to restore the balance in the World, and were heirs to the Gods' own will. How could the short-lived, eternally impatient, wasteful Humans ever achieve something Cetera could not?

Yet when Tezuka thought about it more, he had to concede Fuji had a point: so much of Cetera’s culture was built around Magic, everyone used Magic even when the same could be done without it.

"What about Inui's potions?"

The question surprised him even as the words escaped his mouth. It wasn't in Tezuka's nature to ask questions for the sake of asking, not for answers. It was more in Fuji's line, to needle someone like this.

Fuji merely smiled in response. "Have you tried mixing some of them? It's more like cooking than anything else. Explains why I'm no good at it."

Fuji had cooked the second time Tezuka visited. Even with all his formidable discipline and decorum, it took all his effort not to wince at every bite. To be honest, he couldn't tell if Fuji was a good cook or not – the food had been far too spicy to tell.

Inui, much to his displeasure, had eaten with apparent relish. Possibly some inborn defect of taste buds could account for that. It would certainly explain Inui potions' notorious taste.

Also, Tezuka strongly suspected Fuji's alleged ineptitude with potions had more to do with Fuji simply being uninterested in the art rather than any lack of ability.

"Someone will be coming by shortly to escort the wagon back to the citadel. They've set up a temporary shelter there for the sick." Fuji was sitting on the back of the wagon, dangling his legs like a child, watching him. "Do you want to visit Inui at the citadel? Or just wait for him here?"

As fine a pupil as he had been, healing was one art Tezuka was unsuccessful at; he doubted he'd be of much help around sick people. Besides, he was supposed to be here incognito. Going to the city's citadel at a time like this, in the company of Mage of Pyris, would attract too much unwanted attention. "I will wait."

"Inui said healing is a gift blessed to only a few," Fuji said, and Tezuka started. Time to time, it was hard to tell if Fuji really wasn't simply reading people's minds. "Sometimes, I wish I had it."

Meaning Fuji himself wasn't much for healing. From what he recalled, neither was Inui. There were spells and weaves that could assist with healing process, but the true gift of healing was a rare ability.

Interestingly, the gift appeared more often in Humans than Cetera.

"If the Gods really created the Cetera to heal the World, why didn't they give every Cetera the gift of healing?" Fuji's voice was reflective, but underneath was a hardness Tezuka had never heard before. "Perhaps they'd planned something entirely different at first?"

Tezuka stiffened despite himself. The Cetera were the embodiment of the Nine's mercy, to heal the rifts caused by the Sprites, to protect all life. An ideal repeated so often to every Cetera child since birth, it was held universal, inviolate and absolute. He'd never been very religious, but he would never have thought to question that. Wouldn't have _dared_.

"The Gods cannot lie," Tezuka said, and was relieved to note his voice came out perfectly normal. Begetters of creation, the Nine had used words to direct their power when they shaped the World. With their powers tied to their words, every word they spoke had to be carefully chosen. Which meant the Nine could utter no falsehood.

"But they can deceive all the same," Fuji countered, not noticing – or perhaps not caring – about Tezuka's perturbance.

"You'd know about that," Tezuka retorted before he could think about it.

Fuji's expression froze for a moment, then flowed to a smile that was like a second skin. "Isn't that what I'm signing up for by joining the Cetera?"

"If that's how you feel, why join at all? You've survived all this time without Cetera protection."

Alright, that was perhaps a bit more blunt than he would have liked, but he'd never had patience for the Cetera-style circumspection. Also, at least part of the reason he agreed to consider Fuji's case was because it put him in unique position of being able to observe Fuji before he made a decision. How was he supposed to learn anything about Fuji if the latter always deflected his questions? After four meetings he still knew next to nothing about Fuji, and he wasn't even alluding to Fuji's allegedly lost past. The truest thing he knew about Fuji was his flower arrangement from the day they met, when Fuji didn't know who he was. He might have come to like that person, but Fuji remained elusive, impossible to grasp.

"I choose to," Fuji answered evenly. "Does joining the Cetera mean giving up all my secrets? That's certainly not the impression I got."

"If Inui—"

"Leave Inui out of this," Fuji snapped, voice sharp and cold as ice.

There was a short silence.

"If you were born among the Cetera, your secrets would have been your own. You were not, and you come to us as a stranger. Do you expect us to simply welcome you with open arms just because you are a Cetera?" Despite the choice of words, Tezuka kept his voice neutral and calm. "The Cetera law dictates that every Cetera child must be accepted. But it is the Council who interprets the law."

"What is the worst that can happen?" Fuji tossed the words at him like a challenge, eyes glittering. Tezuka's eyes narrowed in response, his temper beginning to simmer.

"I don't know. I'm not part of the Council and I do not speak for them. Nor am I here to do the Council's job for them. I can only bring your case to the Council, nothing more."

Fuji wasn't smiling, eyes bright and blue. "If so, why try to dissuade me from joining?"

Tezuka fell silent. Actually, that was a good point. He could have turned Inui down. They weren't so close that he owed Inui this favor. Why was he bothering to warn Fuji instead?

Another look at Fuji revealed little, but underneath the mask-like neutrality he could sense no malice, no attack coiling. Possibly, Fuji really was curious about his motivation. That made two of them.

"Your flower arrangement," Tezuka said finally. "I liked it."

Fuji blinked a couple times, looking honestly startled. Then, Fuji started laughing. It was a very quiet sound, accompanied by occasional shakes of his shoulders. "I didn't think you were the type to like flowers," he said at last, but his tone was playful and almost gentle.

"It's the only time you didn't hide," Tezuka said, and paused. He appreciated honesty, true, but what right did he have to demand it from Fuji? Fuji's reasons for joining the Cetera were his own, as were his secrets. Why was he so frustrated Fuji chose to guard them?

Before Fuji can speak, he continued, more honestly. "Your secrets are your own, and I will respect your choice. But don't lie or evade. And I will do the same."

A bargain, not a demand. It was best he could offer. He could scrutinize his own motivation later. Preferably without Fuji's confusing presence.

Fuji smiled at him and was, for once, as clear and unguarded as his flower arrangement.

"Deal."


	20. Shades of Blue, 03. Tezuka - Espada, III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part of Espada! 2,171 words of Tezuka/Fuji. Well. Little bit. Sorry, y'all. I really hadn't meant for this to become such a tease. Trimmed down ruthlessly from the initial wordcount of 2,800 which...is perfectly normal for me. Whoops?

**Et Cetera: Shades of Blue**

_3\. Tezuka: Espada_

[Originally conceived February 2005; Re-written May-July 2014; 9/30/2014 version]

**III.**

Tezuka wasn't sure why he chose to take the news personally. Maybe because he suspected no one else would bother. Archmage Yanagi might, but he'd have to hear it first. And Tezuka was positive he'd heard it before almost everyone else in Heda. Being a close friend to Atobe had its benefits – not excluding the expeditious approval to use the temple's teleportation portals, which usually took at least two days.

When he arrived, Tezuka found Cassidna Mansion empty. Tezuka wasn't sure if he was more relieved or frustrated: relieved by the brief respite to figure out what to say, or frustrated by the additional time to fret over how to break the news. But when the sun sank below the western horizon and still Fuji didn't return, he was more irritated than anything else.

So it was a shorter-tempered Tezuka who made his way down to the nearest town – a good hour away on foot – and to its only tavern. He made a beeline for the counter to order some food when a familiar light brown head caught his attention.

"Fuji," he called, and it was even more surprising to learn it was indeed Fuji hunched over a large mug, his thin fingers wrapped around it as if for warmth.

"Tezuka," Fuji acknowledged, unsmiling for once. Tezuka hesitated, wondering how he might ask to speak in private. Politely.

Fuji refilled his mug from a pitcher sitting at his elbow. "Had an errand around here, did you?" Fuji's voice held a strange undercurrent he couldn't decipher. Tezuka frowned at the light golden liquid and the unmistakable smell of fermented honey. Mead, then, not ale. Something about the way Fuji tossed back the liquid with practiced ease told him this wasn't Fuji's first drink for the night. "Since you can't possibly be here about the untimely demise of a mere Mage. The Mage of Pyris, at that."

"How did you know?" Tezuka asked, more startled than irritated by Fuji's pointed words.

Fuji made a vague motion with his hand. "We keep in touch. He's never failed to answer me before."

There was that fleeting, undefined feeling again. "My condolences," Tezuka said quietly, recalling the original purpose of his visit.

Fuji's eyes were hooded. "You didn't know Inui that well."

"I respected him."

When Fuji chuckled, the brittle edge had faded, but there were lingering hints of bitterness. "You came all the way here out of respect?"

Tezuka was tired and more than a little irritated, and had no taste for going in circles. "I thought it would be better that you hear the news from someone who knew him," he pointed out, his tone gaining an edge. Consciously, he strove to soften his tone. "I know you two were close."

"Yanagi was closer to him," Fuji countered almost automatically. "It's not that I don't appreciate the thought," he added, almost an afterthought. "But you know, you could have just called."

"I could have." Tezuka fought to keep the reproach out of his voice. "I didn't want to."

That finally got a genuine smile, though it faded quickly. "Well, then. The least I could do is to buy you a drink."

"I don't—"

Fuji ignored him, signaling for another mug and filling it to the brim with mead. "Humans have a saying. 'Life is short; let's have a drink.' I always thought they had the right idea."

A Cetera's life was hardly short. But Tezuka couldn't bring himself to mention that, not when the very night was a palpable reminder while Cetera's lifespan was certainly long, nobody was guaranteed the full measure of it.

He hadn't been close to Inui. But he knew Inui's researches, the various treatises Inui'd written on potions. He'd respected Inui's talent. It was more than a tragedy to lose Inui this early in his lifetime; it was a horrible waste. Mouth tightening, Tezuka reached for the mug and took a long draught.

The golden liquid burned as it went down. It made him clear his throat a few times, but it was worth it just to see Fuji's lips twitch in amusement. "You know," Fuji said conversationally. "They say there are three kinds of friends. The first is those who laugh with you in times of joy. The second is those who weep with you in times of sorrow. The last is those who drink with you in times you can do nothing but that."

Implying what? That Tezuka himself was the third kind? Tezuka thought of Atobe, certainly one of his closest friends, but couldn't imagine Atobe joining him for laughter or tears, or even a drink. His thoughts derailed just trying to picture Atobe here, his silk and poise so out of place in the rustic setting. Besides, Cetera frowned upon inebriation like all other excesses in life. For Cetera, both joy and sorrow were meant to be managed, their ridges smoothed into the curve of their long lifespan. Fierce emotions were the hallmark of short-lived and eternally unmaturing Humans, unsuitable for those created to be the closest existence to the Gods.

But there was something jagged in Fuji now. Nothing so genteel, so _Cetera_ as acceptance or understanding. More like glittering ice frozen into sharp spikes, beautiful despite the inherent danger. Another pitcher of mead later, when Tezuka accompanied Fuji back to Cassidna Mansion, it was a mixture of concern and fascination that made him accept Fuji's offer to stay the night more than the lure of free lodging. Fuji was gently swaying on his feet by the time they arrived at the mansion. So Tezuka led him back to his room, helped him shrug off the cloak and the boots, and turned his back while Fuji tugged off his outer shirt and pants.

"Such a gentleman," Fuji teased while Tezuka gathered the discarded cloak and hung it up neatly. "Are you going to tuck me in and tell me to drink plenty of water, too?"

Here was a remark so transparently designed to rouse annoyance, Tezuka didn't deign with a response. Or perhaps Fuji was offering an easy way out of an increasingly awkward evening. An unexpected spike of anger startled him, that Fuji was still adamant they should circle around each other in their respective designated orbits.

So Tezuka turned around to face him, only to have his words desert him.

Moonlight streamed through the open window, pale and cool. Fuji sat on the bed dressed only in a white undershirt, face flushed with mead. The undershirt afforded him only the barest hint of modesty, brushing the top of his thighs. His long legs were beautifully toned, slender muscles covered in flawless, gleaming skin. Fuji had undone a few buttons at the top, leaving his throat bare. The subtle dip of Fuji’s collarbone, the sublime indentation of bones melded under the creamy skin...

He must had drunk more mead than he thought. Nothing explained the sudden pang of desire, the dizzying rush of heat through his body.

There was something dark and fiery in Fuji's eyes as well. Not an answer, quite, but a response nevertheless. When cold reason mercifully prevailed, Tezuka found himself standing so close he could see Fuji's throat move with each breath.

Something that wasn't quite a smile touched Fuji's lips. "Such a gentleman," he repeated, but now there was a darker, unnamed emotion lurking behind the words. "Do you ever just take what you want?"

Even as Fuji spoke, he shifted minutely, the motion almost imperceptible, and leaned back until his spine curved. So subtle, that tiny change of angle. Yet something about Fuji's body became more accessible. Inviting, even. But his eyes were hooded, glittering like twin gemstones in the moonlight, dark with a hunger that felt more predatory than welcoming. It was that which stopped him cold, like sliver of ice slipping down his back. That Fuji's seductive pose seemed more like a trap than an invitation.

"No," Tezuka replied. "Do you?"

Tezuka had meant his words to be a challenge. He hadn't expected Fuji to lunge, to drag him down for a hard kiss that stole his breath. For a brief moment Tezuka didn't react, rigid with shock. Then for another heartbeat he hesitated, tempted despite himself. In the next instant he pulled away, breaking the kiss. Not harsh, but firm. "You can't convince me you don't want this," Fuji said, voice low but with steel underneath, matching challenge for a challenge.

Tezuka swallowed. His body was reacting to the kiss, to Fuji's body pressed against his, to the heat of Fuji's breath and the warmth of Fuji's skin. He couldn't deny he wanted this.

His peers, most of whom betrothed barely out of swaddling cloth and married for alliance as soon as they were of age, conducted affairs as Humans might handle business: matter-of-fact, efficient, and with a wary eye kept on possible advantages and disadvantages. Tezuka never had. His own parents had married for love. Even his stern grandfather had consented that he could seek his spouse in his own time. As for affairs, he'd found neither the time nor the inclination.

It wasn't because he had some lofty ideals of love. He'd simply never found anyone he found interesting enough to pursue. He was curious, as any healthy young man would be. Fuji was as an attractive a partner as he could ever desire. And Fuji was offering.

Was there a right answer to this? But he'd...he'd wanted something else from Fuji even more, long before this, maybe right from the moment they met.

"Not until you ask for no other reason but that you want this," Tezuka heard himself say, voice so steady and sure, he would have thought it belonged to someone else.

The smile finally reached Fuji's eyes, and turned wry. But it was the sincerest expression he'd seen from Fuji all evening. "While you're being an unbearable gentleman," Fuji said, and his voice had gentled. "Will you do one thing for me?"

"If it's within reason," Tezuka replied. His caution seemed to amuse Fuji, who chuckled.

"Stay with me tonight," Fuji said softly. Then he frowned, an expression so alien on his features that Tezuka stared in perfect amazement. "I don't make it a habit to ask favors." Fuji's words came faster, almost tumbling over each other. "You came here just to tell me. I doubt anyone else would have bothered." Fuji took in a quick breath, shoulders sagging with the careful exhalation. "So I won't ask for anything more. Just – stay. Please."

Propriety was the first thing that leaped to Tezuka's mind, even though by all rights that should have flown out the window the moment Fuji looked at him with those dark eyes. If not to become lovers, what were they? Not exactly friends, even if closer than simple acquaintances. This fragile thread of trust had been offered with so much more hesitance than when Fuji offered his body. But the latter had been an offensive move if Fuji's strange distance earlier was a defensive one. This was neither.

"I will stay," Tezuka said, words pulled out of him with no more conscious thought behind them than in a dream. "But only that."

Fuji smiled at him properly this time. "Thank you."

As always, Fuji's words had layers of meaning. Instead of irritating him, it made his lips quirk, like a conspirator sharing a secret. Something nobody else would know but them. "You're welcome."

For modesty's sake he left on his undershirt and trousers and slipped into the bed next to Fuji. Despite his initial apprehension Fuji didn't speak anymore, simply curling up next to him. Not pressed against him intimately, but not avoiding contact either.

Inui wasn't Fuji's mentor. Wasn't anything but the one who found Fuji. And they hadn't seemed particularly intimate, either. If anything, Inui and Yanagi always shared a deeper understanding. But there was a bond between Inui and Fuji. And with it now sundered, Fuji's grief was every bit as raw and passionate as a Human's. Tezuka hadn't expected that. And Fuji had _asked_ him to stay. Allowed Tezuka to see him in a moment of vulnerability, without his impenetrable mask. The first glimpse of a solution for a difficult puzzle. It was a trust, greater than any Fuji gave him before.

Fuji was curled up on his side, face still flushed with color, long eyelashes resting lightly against his cheeks. Under the moonlight, Fuji looked ethereal, impossibly beautiful, and terribly weary. Fuji's breathing was even and deep, but Tezuka knew better than to assume Fuji was asleep. His body still ached faintly, tantalized by the warmth of Fuji's body next to his, clad in nothing but a thin shirt. He knew he wouldn't get much sleep tonight.

Gently, Tezuka reached over and tugged the sheet until it was covering Fuji properly. Fuji never stirred or opened his eyes, and let him.

Tezuka's last memory of that night was of Fuji's face, and the irrational desire to stay like that forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness, folks! Excuses later. For now, a brief discussion of transportation in Cetera.
> 
> Heda is a flying landmass thousands of feet above the ground. Which presents some interesting logistic problems, like how to transport supplies, or how to travel to and fro. Although some Mages can teleport, the distance is quite short and it cannot be done repeatedly. Arrays can help, but not worthwhile given the drain on one’s Magic. For this purpose Cetera have set up temples dedicated to the Nine throughout the World equipped with pre-set teleportation portals. Many of such temples are built and/or funded by Human rulers or municipalities, but Cetera priests maintain them directly. And all temples are governed by _the_ Temple, the BIG one in Heda itself, headed by a college of prelates. The portals’ primary purpose is to transport supplies to Heda. All Cetera except the members of the Council must obtain permission before using them for personal (that is, not on official business) traveling. The obvious downside is that one can travel only from one portal to another, so even the Cetera are stuck with regular ground transportation like horses and carts for the rest of their way.
> 
> The only other super-fast traveling method would be the Dragons, but good luck asking one for a ride. :P


	21. Heart of Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story _**Et Cetera**_ began life as a series of quotations and character micro-sketches on November 20, 2004. In other words, today is the tenth year anniversary of _**Et Cetera’s**_ conception.
> 
> Just when I’m feel so discouraged by the editing difficulties that I wonder why I persist at all, something always happens to remind me why _**Et Cetera**_ is and always will be one of my favorite projects. This month, this backstory was it.
> 
> To all of you reading this, thank you. I hope you will enjoy this installment.
> 
> Castor & Fuji backstory, rated PG for mature themes (death, starvation, loss of family). 6,363 words. The end of this story is set approximately 500 years before the events in Chapter 1. This is pretty much the first draft, but I’m in the midst of NaNoWriMo and cannot afford to revise at this time. Sorry. :(

_In honor of Neumegami, muse, inspiration, and dearest friend._

**Et Cetera: Heart of Ice**

[August & November 2014 :: November 20, 2014 Version]

He was born near the end of the great War.

Smallest in a brood of three, he loved to curl up by his mother’s side and nap. But as the days grew shorter, there was less and less time for it. Every day, impervious to the pleading looks from him and his brother and sister, their mother drove them on, ever northward.

This far up north, they were in their element in the ice and snow and didn’t mind the cold. His brother and sister grumbled to themselves nonetheless, that they hadn’t been allowed to fly for months. But their mother, relentless as only a true Ice-Dragon could be, would hear none of it. So they continued their endless march north on foot, traveling under the cover of snow and ice.

A yearling Dragon was a mere hatchling still. Larger than a draft horse, far more curious, but the hide not yet thick enough to stop arrows and spears. The day his brother disappeared was a blur in his memory, with a few images crystal clear, the rest melted into urgency and terror. When his sister let out a sharp cry, quickly stifled, their mother pushed them back firmly behind her. Still he caught a glimpse of silver scales – and a whiff of the unmistakable scent of blood.

His sister made to dash out, to go to their brother, but their mother caught both of them, pressing her claws in them until it hurt. Then his mother let out the softest, quietest hiss in warning, crouching until her massive bulk was hidden behind large jagged chunks of ice. It was then he saw a shadow move on the ice. Black as the night, hooded and cloaked. So small and fragile-looking, yet so terrifying. A Human, perhaps.

It wasn’t alone.

Half a dozen shapes joined the first. On their black cloak only one spot of color showed, stark silver, an emblem in the shape of a shield. In the shield was the embroidered shape of a winged horse with an eagle’s head, wearing a collar with chain.

“Still no sign of anything?”

“No. Maybe this one was a stray.”

“Fool,” rasped the first. “Look at it. It’s a yearling or two at best. Hatchlings don’t travel alone. Its mother cannot be far behind.”

“But there has been no report of a sighting. Nothing flying overhead. No carcasses left behind.”

“If nothing else, a Dragon must eat,” suggested another voice. “There should have been a steady trail of caribou or moose carcasses. We found only one. Must've been an orphan wandering alone.”

“We keep tracking,” decided the first voice.

The last one who spoke let out a sharp sigh of frustration. “We can’t spend any more time on a wild goose chase. We’ve got bigger problems to worry about. We’ll spend one more day, no more.”

The dark shapes blurred and disappeared. Their mother was trembling, but never made a sound. Even after the sun started sinking toward the horizon, she did not move, and kept him and his sister firmly pressed under her wings.

“We’re going to have to move,” she whispered. “We must be quick, and we mustn’t be seen.”

“But—” his sister protested, and he could tell she’d been weeping. “We can’t just leave him.”

“We have to,” his mother hissed, voice fiercer than he’d ever heard. “Come, we must leave. Be quick, stay low on the ground. Do not leave the shadows.”

Their mother stared at their brother’s body for a long moment, then turned her head resolutely. “Come, children.”

**********

That night, when they slept, they covered themselves with snow the best they could in the shadow of an ice cliff. He slept uneasily, curled up under his mother’s wing. Near dawn, he woke to the sound of quiet sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” repeated his sister. “It was my fault. I complained to Pollux I was hungry. We hunted caribou even though you told us not to. It was my fault.”

His mother didn’t answer, but he could feel her sides vibrate. After a long moment, she spoke, very quietly. “It is done. Go to sleep, Helene.”

He remembered wondering why they had to eat only fish, never anything else. Fish was meager fare, and their element was ice, not water. Ice-Dragons were aerial hunters by nature, their favored prey large land animals common in the cold regions. None of them felt comfortable diving underwater or wading through streams to catch fish. And as they moved farther north, food was increasingly scarce, leaving them with a perpetually empty stomach. Even now hunger gnawed at him every waking moment.

No flying. No hunting. Their mother had been very specific. And now his brother was dead.

He curled up tighter under the warmth of his mother’s wing. Eventually, despite the pang of hunger, he fell back asleep.

When he woke again the sun was high in the sky. His mother’s wing was still tucked around him tightly. His sister was a tight ball of warmth pressed on his other side. Her eyes were wide and terrified. He almost asked her what was wrong when she gave a sharp shake of her head, her claws digging into his side in warning.

Footsteps. Sounds. Their hunters had come.

His mother was tense, almost trembling, but when she looked at them, her eyes were blazing. It was then he remembered his mother was every inch an Ice-Dragon, proud, strong, fierce and intelligent. She wasn’t afraid of the hunters. She was furious and grieving and would have taken her chances had she been alone. She’d have sought vengeance for her murdered offspring even if she died for it. But she had to protect them, so she would hide. She would look at her young to remind herself why she couldn’t strike, why she had to stay cowering under thin blanket of snow, trembling with rage and sorrow.

At long last a voice called, “Alright, move out.”

His sister stirred, but his mother wrapped her wing around them tighter, and his sister subsided. They stayed still for what must had been hours, until the sky grew red, then dark. Finally, his mother stirred.

“We have to move very quickly,” she said, her voice quiet, devoid of emotions. “We must move further north.”

He half-expected their hunters to be lying in wait for them. But their escape into the dusk was uneventful. They traveled through the night and continued to move, keeping to the shadows. Their mother drove them onward mercilessly, and for once neither his sister nor he made even a token protest. After nearly two days of sleepless running, they arrived at the freezing northern shore.

“The edge of the earth,” his mother murmured, standing on the frozen shore, where crashing waves carved cliffs out of the ice. “If we’re not safe here, we won’t be safe anywhere. We will stay here until it’s safe to go back.”

**********

Living at the northern shore had benefits. The weather was much colder than anything he and his sister experienced in their short two years, but it wasn’t beyond tolerance. And seals with thick rich blubber lived in the northern ocean, following the ice floes to nest. Their diving skills, honed with much smaller prey, came in handy at catching seals underwater.

Several years went by, and he and his sister adapted to their life in the far north. They had grown, larger than houses now, but it would take much longer for them to reach their mother’s size. His sister was still larger than he was, with her voracious appetite, but he didn’t mind. He still loved to curl up by his mother’s side and nap, and now, hidden deep inside an ice cave that the three of them carved out of the remote cliff-side, he had the leisure to do so.

Then, one winter, the ice floes didn’t arrive. Maybe because of an unusually warm summer, and a mild winter. Ice didn’t come, and seals didn’t come, and they were back to catching fish. They were larger, and their appetites had grown. Hunger was now a monster to be reckoned with, but when his sister cautiously ventured to ask about hunting on the ground, their mother rebuffed the idea so quickly and so cuttingly, they never tried again.

The following summer was even hotter. Their mother was grim all summer, urged them to eat as much as possible. The fall came, and the early winter, and still the ice didn’t return.

“We will have to sleep,” his mother declared. “But first we must eat, or we won’t ever wake up again.”

They ate anything that was remotely edible, even the rare vegetation that survived the frozen wasteland. His mother pressed them to eat more, gave them the rare catch of stray marine mammals. Even his sister stubbornly kept pushing more shares of food on him. She had gotten increasingly protective of him ever since their brother was killed.

Finally, his mother declared they would sleep.

An Ice-Dragon thing, this long sleep, she told them. Other Dragons couldn’t do it: they didn’t have store of reserve fat like Ice-Dragons did, couldn’t shut off their bodily functions for months at end. It was just like the bears and other mammals that hibernated. But unlike those, an Ice-Dragon would only sleep as an emergency measure. So they settled down together for a long sleep.

**********

When he woke up late next spring, he felt weak, stretched thin. For the first time in his life he was cold. He raised his head and saw why.

His mother and sister were cold. Colder even than ice. They would never wake again.

For a whole day and night he stayed where he was, waiting for life to leave him. Then he shook himself, remembered his mother and sister gave their food to him so he might live, and to deny their gift now was to dishonor their memory forever. So he left the cave, dove into the water, and fished until he could eat no more.

When he felt strong enough he returned to the cave to sing his mother and sister their death songs. In the song he promised to live and honor their memory, to preserve them in his heart for as long as he lived. Finally, he sealed up the cave and left.

**********

He wasn’t yet ten. But his mother had taught him well, and he was clever and adaptable. He learned to move soundlessly and unseen. He learned to lie in wait for his prey, figure out the trails his quarry left behind. He cleaned after his hunts, perfected leaving no clues.

Winter came early that year, and ice returned once again, bringing back seals and the time of plenty. A few years later, warm winter brought no ice, but by then he no longer relied on seals alone for food. He changed his caves every so often, just in case, and kept a careful eye on his food sources.

Years blurred together. He grew in size and strength. His hide grew tougher, impenetrable. As his roaming range grew, eventually he ran into Humans. At first he was wary of them, the hooded and cloaked figures in black an indelible memory in his mind. But they were the only other intelligent specie around where he lived. Other Sprites did not venture this far north, and the few kinds that did were often solitary and xenophobic. And, more importantly, he learned much just by watching the Humans. No species was as adaptable and resourceful as they were, and he learned from their example much about hunting and tracking, as well as concealment and camouflage.

And they fascinated him. In their short lives, Humans lived with a sort of ferocity that was admirable in its own right. Their lives were always so full of troubles and cares, and they tended to create some of both themselves if none existed. But they were passionately attached to living and to its meaning as few other species ever were.

Songs, dances, stories, rites and customs marked the northern Human tribes who lived in what was arguably one of the harshest environments to live. On the nights the Humans had their dances and storytelling around roaring bonfires, he would watch from the cover of darkness, hidden under a concealing layer of ice and snow. A cultural memory, retold again and again in chants memorized and passed down from generation to generation, keeping their dead alive through the living. It was an urge he could understand.

Or, perhaps he was so desperately alone, he was hungry for anything that resembled a connection. He knew it wasn’t in the nature of his kind to want companionship. But Ice-Dragons often spent the first century of their life in their brood with their siblings and their mother. He’d had less than a decade with them. He was in a vast frozen wilderness with no voice to answer him. No touch to remind him he was still alive, not yet a part of the eternal ice around him. Mindful of what happened, he dared not take to his wings, dared not leave single trace of his existence. But then how was it different from being dead? As far as the World was concerned, he did not exist.

But he’d made a promise. He would not seek out any connection that could compromise him. The hunters who murdered his brother and drove them to exile were not Humans. This much he knew. They had a touch of Magic, powerful and cold, that Humans lacked. He had Magic of his own, one that he had to largely figure out for himself. But his mother had always run from their hunters. He had no idea how his Magic would stand up against those hunters. Better to hide, to wait until he knew. Ice-Dragons possessed what most of the other Dragon-kind lacked: patience. He would wait.

**********

His wait stretched well into a century and more. After that, after he learned his Magic could hide him from unfriendly eyes, he cautiously ventured south, always careful to erase his tracks, learning about the World as he traveled. The great War had ended. The War was now nothing but a horrible but distant memory to Humans. Longer-lived Sprites still remembered, still guarded themselves closely. Cetera – his hunters had been Cetera, albeit their Magic had been strange even for Cetera – were still at large, but much diminished in number and strength since the War, now known as the War of Adamant.

The hunting of the Dragons was unknown. Even though both Earth-Dragons and Ice-Dragons had disappeared, nobody remembered they had been deliberately hunted down and killed during the War. But more detailed information couldn’t be obtained by observation alone. So very carefully he chose a Human scholar, created a system of exchange. Humans cared so much for lifeless stones and cold metal. Those, he’d encountered plenty in his wanderings. He’d even collected a fair number of those for their beauty. He always had something with which he could barter with Humans. He could buy both their knowledge and their silence.

Rarely, there were the few who kept their silence voluntarily because, they claimed, it was the right thing to do. Human scholars and the increasingly rare Human Mages were the main source of his education. A handful even provided him with companionship, once they overcame their fear of him. But like so many things Humans died so very quickly, whether by diseases, accidents, or even plain old age. A century, which was an eternity to Humans, was but a blink of an eye for a long-lived Dragon. Ice-Dragons were particularly long-lived even among the Dragon-kind, although their lifespan was never documented.

So he lived, in silence and solitude and secrecy, and centuries flowed into a millennium, then two, and more. Not even Cetera could claim the long years he lived. He, like all Dragons, was an avid collector, and collected knowledge above all, keeping them carefully catalogued in his orderly mind. He also collected gems and stones and objects with Magic, useful for masking his caves and belongings. He learned his own Magic, the strength of his claws and teeth, and though only occasionally, the power and speed of his own wings.

Other Dragons he avoided; Ice-Dragons had little dealing with other Dragon-kind. And Dragons, like Unicorns, were one of the longest-lived creatures in the World. Running into other Dragon-kind would have been far more trouble than it was worth. They would know him for what he really was, but none of them would have a reason to keep his secrets. Unicorns he didn’t harry; Unicorns were one of the rare creatures that could pose danger to Dragons, their horns able to pierce a fully-grown Dragon’s hide. Other Sprites rarely came anywhere near a Dragon’s scent. Humans he only met if he had no other choice, and after the first couple millennia, his contact with them died down to nothing.

He did not regret it. As he grew in power and age, he needed nothing, needed no one. He had become fully accustomed to solitude. He was an Ice-Dragon, as the legends said, with a heart of ice.

**********

Over centuries he had developed a habit of noting all Magical activities in his vicinity. It was a caution that served him well. So when powerful Magic exploded in the valley on the other side of the mountain he was staying at, he kept an eye out in case he had to move quickly.

Some instinctive wariness kept him from venturing outside his cave. There were traces of something familiar nearby, something dark, something he hadn’t felt since he was but a hatchling. His head snaked up when he heard a rustling noise nearby, eyes narrowing, poised to strike if he must. He was just about to spring when a shape stumbled out of the shadow, and fell.

Surprise kept him still. It was a youngling, maybe some seventeen or eighteen in Human age, dressed in the fashion of the mountain folks. A touch of Cetera Magic was in him, but the boy was not wholly of Cetera, either. The boy was unconscious and bleeding. Defenseless. Distasteful, he decided, to kill a helpless youngling, wounded and alone. He settled back down and watched, trying to decide whether it was worth the bother to help the youngling. The safest and easiest thing to do was of course to leave the boy to his fate. It was one youngling. His fate made no difference in the long run. If the boy lived through the night, he could decide what to do then.

He retreated further back into the cave and slept till the morning.

**********

The next morning, he found the boy still asleep, but his wounds already healed on their own. The worst of them painted faintly pink streaks on pale skin, but that was it. Mystified, Castor looked him over again, checking and prodding everywhere. No Human or Cetera ever healed this quickly. Yet, even as he checked, the pink faded from the boy’s skin, leaving it smooth and unmarked. By midday, it was as if the boy never suffered any injury at all.

Throughout it all, the boy never once stirred. He decided to leave the boy alone. Once the youngling awoke, he would ask questions. Miraculous healing or not, the boy was slender even for a Human and the touch of Cetera Magic was faint, not very developed. He was certain the boy would pose no danger to him. So he settled down to wait.

Three days later, the boy finally stirred with a faint sound. The boy then started tossing and thrashing in his sleep, crying out softly. And for the first time in millennia, he felt an indefinable tightness in his chest. There were no words, but those were sounds of true suffering, of hopeless grief and immeasurable loss. Never too loud, and all the more heartrending because of it. So young, yet such sounds could only have come from one who experienced the kind of pain few ever did in an entire lifetime. It was something he knew viscerally. It was the sound his sister made when she saw their brother’s broken body. It was the sound that had frozen in his throat when he woke up after the long winter of famine, and found himself the only one left alive in the icy cave.

“Shhhhh,” he crooned softly, nudging the child with his snout. He was a Dragon, and the softest of his croons was louder than roar of a lion. Yet the child didn’t flinch from him. When he wrapped his wing around the child, like his mother used to do, the child let out a soft sigh and turned over to snuggle closer.

The pang that went through his heart was absurd, inexplicable, yet felt like destiny. He wrapped his wing tighter around the child and nestled down until his bulk was just shy of touching the child as he slept. He kept a silent vigil until the sun went down and the stars rose in the sky, but the child did not cry out anymore, curled up under the shadow of his wing. Carefully, he laid his head down at an awkward angle to avoid crushing the child. He was going to have an uncomfortable crick in his neck if he fell asleep like that. But he wanted to watch the child a little longer, just until he felt sleepy.

He did not remember falling asleep that night.

**********

When he woke up, there was sunlight streaming through the cave opening, and a pair of blue eyes blinking at him in wonder.

He surged up quickly and immediately regretted it. His neck was in a sorry shape, sore from resting at a bad angle all night. And the unconscious flare of his wings had knocked the child back a few steps. The child stumbled and fell, but made no sound, blue eyes still fixed on him.

So much for not scaring the child first thing in the morning. He held back a sigh. He _was_ a Dragon, after all. Perhaps that was a moot point from the start. Still, the child wasn’t screaming, which he took as a positive sign. Pitching his voice as low and soft as he could, he spoke. “Are you all right, child?”

The child tilted his head, like he was puzzled, and didn’t answer.

“Are you hurt?” he tried, wondering what was wrong. The child wasn’t mute, obviously; he’d cried out in his sleep the day before, albeit quietly (like a hunted animal, his mind whispered). Why was the child saying nothing now?

The child still did not answer, but the blue eyes lit up when he lowered his snout to peer at the child. All Humans had found it unnerving to have his face so close to them, ever mindful of the razor-sharp teeth and the strength of his jaws that could snap their soft bodies in half. The child’s face, however, lit up with delight. With careful hands the child reached out to caress his snout, thin little fingers sliding under his chin.

“Have you never seen a Dragon before?” he rumbled, and even though it vibrated through the whole cave, the child merely smiled, moving to lean against his neck to feel the vibration of his throat as he spoke. So thin, the child’s arms, more delicate than mere twigs he could shatter by simply brushing past them. He held still when those arms went around his neck, mindful he could easily hurt the child with the smallest motion. But when the tiny hands reached the ridges of his wings, he let out a surprised rumble of pleasure.

Wings were a sensitive spot for Dragons. It was also one of the places a Dragon couldn’t reach alone. When his family was alive, his mother or sister used to groom his wings for him. He’d forgotten what pleasure was there in someone touching his wings. The child rubbed the membranous vanes, which used to be thin and softer than thistledown, which were now tougher than the strongest leather, but far more supple. The child’s fingers were nimble and quick, but remained ever gentle even in their curiosity. When the child got up to reach more of his wing, he instinctively curved one wing around the child to keep him stable. The child made a humming sound, which he tentatively classified as one of pleasure.

“Who are you?” he asked when the child started exploring the base of his wing, making him shiver, but the answer seemed of little importance. Perhaps the child was addled, else a fool. But the way the child quickly and methodically discovered all the places that made him purr with pleasure, he doubted it. Yet the child had no fear of him. There was only wonderment and delight when the child looked at him. What a strange child this was.

But like every child, he must have parents. Family. Once he found out where the child was from, he would have to return the child to where he belonged.

The cold chill spreading from the pit of his stomach was unpleasant. He gently nudged the child back, then shook out his body. He needed to feed, and likely the child was hungry as well. When he moved to exit the cave, the child followed him, and he turned to push the child back.

“No,” he said, pushing the child back again when the child again tried to follow. “Stay here, child.”

He didn’t think the child understood the words, but there was a concentration on his face. And this time, when he moved the child stayed where he was.

“I will be back soon. Stay here.”

With a last look at the cave entrance, where the child stood with blue eyes wide and questioning, he left to hunt.

**********

When he returned, the child waited until he entered the cave before rushing to meet him, throwing those little arms around his neck in happiness and transparent relief. He held still and rustled his wings to brush against the child tenderly.

“I told you I will be back soon. Come, child. You need to eat.”

Then he immediately ran into a conundrum. He knew Humans didn’t eat raw meat. The child looked Human enough, so the meat would need to be cooked with fire. He _had_ watched Humans often and long enough to know how fire worked. But his element was ice, so his breath, though cold enough to burn, wasn’t able to start a flame. He’d seen Humans use tools to start a fire, but had never needed to learn the craft himself. How was he to render the meat safe for the child?

A memory came to him, of a Human scholar, who once made paper catch fire using nothing but polished glass and sunlight. He had grasped the concept quickly enough, although at the time he’d dismissed the knowledge as interesting but inconsequential. Somewhere in the back of the cave, he knew he had some trinkets in his ever-expanding collection that might serve a similar purpose. So he went to gather some dried twigs and fallen branches, and found a clear curved class much like the one the scholar had, and got down to work.

His claws were never meant to work tools like Human hands could. After a few frustrating tries, the child surprised him by picking up the glass himself. The child held it out under the sun, over the collection of dry leaves and twigs and looked at him in askance.

“Yes, like that.”

Even if the child did not understand words, clearly he sensed intent, and the child went back to what he was doing, tilting the glass this way and that, at first idly, then more purposefully. Finally, the child found the angle to make the sunlight focus into a brilliant little dot over the pile of dried leaves, and the child laughed. It was the first time he’d heard the sound from the child, and in his distraction, he nearly missed it when the leaves started smoking.

“Ah,” the child said softly, and he turned his attention back to the leaves, which was smoking more and more, until tiniest of the flame leaped up. “Ah!”

“Yes,” he rumbled with approval. “That’s it, child.”

The child grinned at him, picking up on his approval easily, and continued until the little flame caught over all of the leaves, then the twigs. Nudging the child aside, he carefully laid down a larger branch on top of the burning pile and waited until it caught fire. Then he put a few more, crisscrossed over the first, like he’d seen the northern Human tribes do. Soon, the fire was burning steadily, filling the cave with uncomfortable warmth, but it was worth tolerating the discomfort to see the child looking fascinated by the way flames leaped and licked over the wood. Despite his worry, the child reached out but did not touch the fire, merely feeling the heat from a safe distance. When he laid the skinned hind shank of a deer on the fire, the smell was similar to what he remembered from Human villages. It made the child close his eyes and inhale in obvious appreciation as well.

The fire didn’t do much damage to his toughened hide, but it was still uncomfortably hot when he reached with his claw to lift the meat out of the fire and turn it over. The child was watching him avidly, and the next time he tried to reach, the child solved the problem by using one of the longer branches he’d brought to spear the meat and turn it over. When he judged it safe to eat, he guided the child’s hand to lift the meat out of the flame, and blew on it as gently as he could so his breath would cool the meat without harming the child.

The child enjoyed the meat immensely. When he was done, he licked his fingers clean and looked up with a bright, pleased smile.

He let out a low purr in reply, wishing he could smile back. The child seemed to understand him anyway.

Once full, the child helped him put out the fire and clean up, and once again the rate at which the child absorbed information astonished him. He’d met his share of Humans over the millennia, and some of them had been extremely intelligent. But none that he’d ever met had learned as quickly as this child did. Pleased, his hunger sated, he settled down more comfortably and lifted a wing in silent invitation. The child immediately came to his side, curling up under his wing. He chuckled and wrapped the child securely with his wing, and dropped his head close to watch until the child dozed off.

**********

Days passed in a similar routine. The child gathered wood and started fire around the time he would return with the day’s kill. He learned to bring enough to last a whole day, so the child could eat whenever he became hungry. The child now managed the fire with a deft and sure hand, and cleaned up afterward just as precisely as he would. So he took the child with him to collect dry moss and twigs and fallen branches. He did not let the child wander far, just enough to show him the whereabouts of a creak with crystal clear water. Everything seemed to delight the child, from the golden autumn leaves, busy squirrels, babble of the brook, sunlight sparkling over the crisp morning air. He found himself more pleasantly distracted than he could ever remember being, the child’s laughter already a familiar accompaniment throughout his day. At night they slept curled up together, his wing around the child. And he had not known sleep this peaceful since he was a hatchling snoozing under his mother’s wing.

Through all this the child never said a word, although the child had an intensely focused look of concentration whenever he spoke to him. He waited patiently and did not push.

Curiously, despite his wary watch, nothing stirred from the valley from where he’d felt the burst of Magic the night he found the child. No one had come seeking the child, either. Odd, given most Humans were attached to their young. Finally, seven days after the child woke up, he ventured very cautiously toward the valley during his morning hunt. He kept his cloaking Magic around him – so very important in such a warm place, with no snow and ice to shield him – and edged closer to where he’d seen a Human village before.

What he found was nothing. An entire village reduced to rubble. Powerful Magic had leveled the whole place. Nothing but fragments of rocks and splinters of burnt wood and what might have been cornerstones of a few houses remained. Silently he wandered through the ruin, but found nothing of interest, only the cold stale scent of death.

Close to the edge of the forest, a portion of a stone wall remained. A stone cottage, perhaps. It had survived better than the rest of the village. Perhaps he would find something the child could use. He moved to inspect the remains of the cottage, and found little. Just when he was about to turn away, something glittering caught his eyes.

He dug through the debris carefully until he could extricate the object that had caught his eyes. When he pulled it free, he blinked in surprise. It was a hand-sewn book encased with leather cover. Both the front and the back of the cover were meticulously embroidered using metallic threads, a masterpiece of months, perhaps years. The front cover had embroidered picture of apples and leaves enclosed by elaborate borders. Intricate patterns of weaving vines and curling leaves adorned the back cover. Near the bottom, just above the borders, two words were embroidered using the Cetera letters that Humans had adopted for writing.

Fuji. Syuusuke.

Pretty sounding words. Inside, only a handful pages had survived intact, each page filled with sketches or full-color drawings and words to go with the illustrations. A child’s book. To learn the letters, perhaps. Maybe the words found on the back of the book formed the name of the child for whom this book was created.

He concentrated, trying to discern past the smell of fire and Magic and death, and caught the faintest whiff of the scent he’d fallen asleep to for ten days. His eyes flew open. The child had touched this book. Perhaps was the owner of this book. Possibly, he’d found the child’s name, and what was left of his home. Of his family.

Which meant the child was quite alone in the world, like him. He knew what it meant to lose one’s family, and ached for the child. But even fiercer was a rising joy, that the child was now truly his to keep. No one could claim the child. No one would ever take the child from him.

But the child deserved to know. One day, he would have to return this book to its rightful owner, and tell the child what happened to his family. Not yet, not with the child still mute, probably from the shock of losing his family. He would wait until the child healed inside.

He took the book to a secondary lair he had prepared nearby, and hid it deep inside. Then, mindful of how long he’d taken, he quickly hunted, and returned to his cave.

**********

When he returned, he found the child in a state of agitation. The child was on him the moment he landed, throwing thin arms around his neck and clinging to him. But the child made no sound even as he held on with a desperate strength. Like his own, the child’s grief was a soundless agony.

“I’m sorry, child,” he said in a low purr. “I have made you worry.”

The child tightened his arms, then let go with palpable reluctance, looking at his face closely. It occurred to him then that he now knew the child’s name. He didn’t think the child had been merely struck dumb from the shock. Although the child learned at an astonishing rate, it was clear the child was learning like a hatchling, like a newborn. Perhaps the shock of whatever happened had cost the child his memory. But the child could learn again, and would if he wanted.

He placed a claw on the child’s breast, pleased to note the child did not flinch, looking up at him with trusting eyes. “Fuji,” he said. “Syuusuke.”

The child blinked slowly, but did not seem to have any particular reaction to the name. He repeated, slower, tasting each syllable, fitting the child in his lair to the unfamiliar sound. It was a good fit.

“Fuji. Syuusuke.”

He looked at the child in shock. Of course. Although the child knew as little as a newborn, his mind was still that of an older Human being, and learned at a much faster rate. He let out a rumble of assent. “Yes.”

Then, the child surprised him again, reaching out to place a hand on his breast with an inquisitive look. He chuckled. That, he understood. “Castor,” he said softly. The name tasted unfamiliar in his mouth, so unaccustomed he’d become to hearing it said aloud. The name his mother had given him. The name no one had called for many lifetimes.

“Castor,” the child repeated, carefully, and smiled.

Castor felt something warm and gentle unfurl in his chest, like flowers uncurling in the spring sun. Carefully, tenderly, he lowered his snout until he was almost nose to nose with the child, purring. The child’s smile was radiant as he caressed Castor’s snout and leaned closer to lay his cheek against Castor’s with a sigh of contentment.

Castor closed his eyes, felt nothing but the aching tenderness like tiny sunburst inside him, and breathed home for the first time in thousands of years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just An’s backstory left to go before Chapter 5 now! Thank you for reading. ♥


	22. Et Cetera: Christmas 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally An’s backstory was planned for December, but that one isn’t exactly very cheerful. At any rate I thought it wasn’t quite right for the holiday season, so here’s my rushed attempt at a (somewhat) Christmas-appropriate story, Cetera-style. Happy belated birthday, Ryoma! And to everyone following Cetera, merry Christmas!! Here is my Christmas offering to you all.
> 
> About 2,600 words. Rated G. Takes place a few months after Fuji takes Ryoma in as a pupil, approximately 10 years before the events in Chapter 1.

**Et Cetera: Christmas 2014**

“When is the winter solstice?”

If Fuji was taken aback by the abrupt question, he didn’t show it. “Tomorrow,” Fuji said easily. “Did you have plans?”

“No,” Ryoma said curtly.

He didn’t. It was just that...his mother had always celebrated winter solstice. A piece of her past, maybe. She was from West Hyrrha, and winter solstice came with a major celebration there. Some old belief about a grandmotherly spirit something or other, one that gave snow in the winter and took care of unborn babies and forever worked away on her loom. He’d always found the bits and pieces of legends his mother told him creepy and hadn’t paid much attention. But on every winter solstice, she’d always made sure to give him a gift, no matter how difficult their circumstances. Made sure he had plenty to eat, if only for one day out of the whole winter. And they’d sit together before the hearth fire and she’d tell him stories until he fell asleep. Now facing his first winter solstice without his mother, he wished he’d paid more attention to her stories.

Wished, despite being warmer and his belly fuller than ever, that he was back with his mother, in a cold drafty room somewhere huddled under a blanket with her arm around him, watching the flickering flame and listening to the soothing cadence of her soft voice until he fell asleep.

Fuji hummed, but did not look up from the scroll he was reading. “You’re from West Hyrrha, correct?” he asked absently.

Ryoma shrugged. “My mother was.”

A flash of blue in his peripheral vision made him look up, but Fuji was looking at the scroll intently. He probably just imagined Fuji looking at him. In all the months he’d known Fuji, his eccentric mentor never showed much interest in anything. The only exception was when Fuji found out his family name, not long after he started living with Fuji.

“Mm.” Fuji finished the scroll and rolled it up neatly. “Are you planning to visit your Unicorns tomorrow morning?” Fuji asked apropos of nothing in particular.

Ryoma gave him a half-hearted glare. “They’re not my Unicorns,” he retorted.

Fuji’s smile didn’t falter. “On your way back, bring some fir branches if you don’t mind.”

Ryoma knew what Fuji was referring to: the extremely fragrant fir trees that grew in the Crystal Forest. He didn’t bother asking why Fuji wanted them. Knowing Fuji, it could be for anything from a potion to potpourri. “How many?”

“As many as you can manage,” Fuji answered. “I’ll be out until the afternoon. Will you be able to manage on your own?”

“Of course.”

“All right. Good night, Echizen.”

“Good night,” Ryoma echoed automatically, out of habit built over three decades.

Fuji smiled at him and walked through the open doorway leading to the staircase. Ryoma stared after him, and tried not to miss the way his mother would always hug and kiss him goodnight. After his twelfth summer, he used to protest he was too old for such things. It had become their nightly ritual, with him trying to squirm out of her hold and his mother laughing and hugging him tighter.

Ryoma stayed until there was nothing but embers in the fireplace before heading upstairs to his own room.

**********

The next morning when Ryoma awoke, Fuji was already gone. The breakfast cooling on the table was the only indication Fuji had been there.

“Happy winter solstice,” Ryoma murmured to the empty air, and sat down to eat his breakfast.

It was a crisp day, cool and clear, and already below freezing this high up in the mountain. He still didn’t understand why Fuji chose to make his home here. In fact, the Cassidna Mansion was so far up the northern mountain range that it was strange anyone ever built such a luxurious mansion up here at all. Just the short trek outside to get more firewood from the shed was enough to make him shiver in the brisk chill. For a moment Ryoma debated going down to the Crystal Forest at all, but Fuji hadn’t left him any assignment today. At least being around the Unicorns passed time quickly. He could always take a nap later. So Ryoma headed down the slope toward the Crystal Forest.

As always, the Unicorns greeted him with a serene gladness that made him feel more settled. The Unicorns never became excited, and they rarely ever made a sound. Ryoma didn’t know if they were able to communicate telepathically or they were simply amazing at reading body languages. But talking had never been one of his favorite things to do, so their silent communication didn’t bother him. Their calm and their acceptance and their quiet joy – he could do worse.

When Ryoma returned, it was already in the afternoon. He’d nearly forgotten Fuji’s request on his way back. After struggling with the unwieldy branches and sticky resin, he wished he had. To top it off, he found the Cassidna Mansion empty again, with simple lunch and a note from Fuji to start on the new book left on the kitchen table. Feeling annoyed, Ryoma unceremoniously dumped the fir branches and retreated to the den with the book. It was annoyance he was feeling, he told himself sternly while he lit the fireplace. Fuji should have the decency to be around when Ryoma came back with the stupid sticky bundle of his own request. That was all. He wasn’t feeling regret at finding the house empty still. When the fire started to burn steadily, catching on the largest log, Ryoma settled down on the comfortable armchair next to the fireplace and started to read.

The book contained advanced theories of Magic, and actually very interesting. But the day’s fatigue crept up on him, and Ryoma fell asleep, the book in his lap.

**********

A sudden snap started him awake. There was a new log in the fireplace, and the wood crackled and snapped as it burned. The dusky golden light streaming from the windows told him it was nearing evening. Aside from the newly stroked fire, there were sounds coming from the hall and the kitchen. And there was a smell of beef stew in the air.

His stomach rumbled. Ryoma placed his book on the chair and went to the kitchen. And blinked. Fuji’s light brown head was bent over a batch of cookies on the table, meticulously icing each.

“Did you make them yourself?” Ryoma asked. To his irritation, Fuji didn’t jump or looked at all startled by his sudden question.

“No, I picked them up from the bakery you like down in the village. I’m just decorating them.”

Now that he was looking, there were loaves of fresh bread sitting in a basket near the stove. A saucepan steamed gently, smelling like hot milk and something sweeter. “What’s that?”

“A drink from the north.” Fuji finished decorating the cookies and went to stir the content of the saucepan. “Further up north. It’ll warm you right up.”

They were in the kitchen, which was growing a bit too warm for comfort. Ryoma frowned. “Why would we need to warm up?”

Fuji chuckled at him. “We’re going to have dinner outside.”

In the freezing cold. He’d known Fuji was strange. He hadn’t realized Fuji was also crazy. “Why—”

“Here, take this over to the table in the back garden,” Fuji instructed him, pressing the basket of bread in his arms. “He’s waiting.”

Before Ryoma could ask who “he” was, Fuji nudged him out the kitchen door, which led to the back garden. In the back garden was an outside table set with a fire pit where Fuji liked to sit and roast corn cobs and sweet potatoes on summer nights. Trust his mentor to be crazy enough to want to do the same in freezing winter. When he went out, he blinked in surprise.

“Castor. What are you doing here?”

The Ice-Dragon bent his great head until they were nearly nose to nose. “Family dinner,” Castor rumbled. “Or so I’ve been told. You’re from West Hyrrha, are you not?”

“Fuji doesn’t celebrate winter solstice.” His comment was more of a challenge, defensive heckles half-raised. “I’ve traveled around all my life. It’s not like I miss anything from there.”

Castor merely looked at him with those luminous, ageless eyes. “After Syuusuke came to me, I had to change many things in my life,” Castor said at last. “I believe he feels it’s only fair to do the same now that you’re here, little one.”

“It’s not necessary.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t even the winter solstice celebration he missed, anyway. He missed his _mother_.

“No.” Castor’s voice was placid. “But if my child wishes to create another tradition to hold in his heart, I will not begrudge it.”

Ryoma frowned, then took a short breath as the realization hit him. Fuji might be doing this for him, but Castor was doing this for Fuji. For his child who had no memories of his past, and so created and kept memories of his own with meticulous care through traditions of his own. With a small sigh, Ryoma resigned to freezing in the bitter cold so Fuji can start yet another unnecessary seasonal tradition. “I’ll be back, then,” he mumbled. If he recalled correctly, there was more foodstuff to carry.

Between Fuji and Ryoma, they soon finished setting up the outside table with a simple but hearty dinner of beef stew and fresh bread. The cookies didn’t look half-bad, and Fuji had set up the fragrant fir branches around the table, cleverly twisted into pretty garlands. The fire blazed in the pit, and the blanket Fuji set around him was warm with a spell. The hot milk drink Fuji made indeed kept him warm easily, although the sharp taste made him suspect there was more than just milk and cream and spices in it. Ale, perhaps.

After dinner, while they ate cookies and fruitcake for dessert, Fuji held out a wrapped package to him. “Happy winter solstice,” Fuji told him with a playful smile. “I didn’t have time to wrap Tezuka’s gift, but I saw you already enjoying it, so no harm done, I should think.”

“What gift?”

“Your new book was from him.” Fuji chuckled. “Well, he picked it out and paid for it. I picked it up for him. But he sends his regrets that he cannot be here in person.”

Ryoma raised a skeptical eyebrow, unsure if Fuji was serious or joking. He couldn’t picture Tezuka sitting at a family dinner of any kind, let alone with them. And he didn’t think Tezuka even knew about Castor’s existence. He’d found out only because – this he was sure – Castor took it upon himself to visit without a warning a month after Ryoma came to live with Fuji. That was the first and only time Ryoma had seen Fuji so upset. Angry, even. But Castor was a Dragon, an Ice-Dragon at that, and nobody argued with a Dragon, adopted parent or not.

“Go on and open it.”

Ryoma did, and then was speechless for a moment.

“You’re going to need them once we get started on more advanced fire spells,” Fuji added when he didn’t say anything.

Gauntlets. Made of wyvern hide. Not just any wyvern, judging from the reddish-black hue, which was found only on the rarest kind that dwelled in active volcanoes. Wyvern hide was tougher than any except the Dragon-hide, but much thinner and suppler when tanned, not to mention easier to obtain. The hide of volcano-dwelling wyverns was especially prized for its extremely high resistance to heat.

But obtaining wyvern hide wasn’t easy. Wyverns were far smaller than Dragons, being only about the size of a big dog, with the average intelligence of large cats. But they had a foul temper, vicious claws and a poisonous bite. Their tough hides made them quite difficult to capture or kill. Wyvern hides were sold for exorbitant prices, and the volcano-dwelling type in particular cost a fortune.

“...Thanks,” Ryoma finally managed. He couldn’t even summon the wits to make a show of refusal. Fuji had chosen these for him, for his life here, with Fuji. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Fuji looked briefly startled. Then he chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. You’re going to owe me a chore of my choice every week for the next ten years. I wager I will be quite well repaid by then.”

“Go on, little one. Try them on,” Castor urged, sounding amused.

Ryoma pulled them on and flexed his fingers. The gauntlets were just about his size, but the fingers were thicker and longer. So he could use them as he grew older, he realized, and had to duck to hide the way his eyes burned a little. “They’re fine,” he said when he was sure his voice would come out steady.

“Of course they are. I wasn’t going to give you something boring like books.” Fuji sounded quite pleased with himself. “I can’t believe Tezuka suggested a book.”

“I like books,” Castor said.

Fuji gave him an affronted look at that. “So do I. But not for gifts.”

Castor chuckled, which sounded like a rumble of thunder. “I will keep that in mind for next time, child. As for this year...” Using his snout, Castor pushed a bundle that looked suspiciously like books closer to Fuji’s feet.

Fuji laughed, the warmer, gentler laughter he let out only around Castor, and offered a leather pouch in return. “Thank you. And happy winter solstice to you, too.” Then, with a mischievous smile he added, “Wait until you’re back in your lair to open this one.”

“Happy winter solstice,” Castor returned. “Did you always celebrate it before, little one?”

The question took him off guard, and Ryoma hesitated. “My mother did.” Then, after another moment of hesitation he added, “I think she did because I was born around winter solstice.”

“Celebration of winter, in hope for the renewal of spring.” Castor’s voice was soft like no Dragon’s voice had a right to be. “Your mother must have loved you very much.”

“I guess.” It didn’t hurt as much as he thought, to talk about his mother. “She used to give me a present every winter solstice. And tell me stories.”

The gauntlets were still on his hands, but he didn’t want to take them off yet. They were beautiful and soft and supple, like silk on his skin but far more substantial. Besides, they kept his hands warm. Fuji didn’t comment on it. Instead, Fuji reached out to tug the blanket until it was wrapped around him securely. “What kind of stories?”

“I don’t remember much.” He pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees. One of Castor’s great wings settled around the two of them like a tent, keeping away the chill of the wind. Fuji was sitting almost close enough to touch, and it didn’t escape his attention how Castor’s wing flexed and curled around Fuji so protectively, like a mother’s arm cradling her infant.

“Tell us what you remember.” Fuji’s smile was guileless and Ryoma didn’t trust it one bit, but he thought he understood why Fuji was asking. “We’ll help out when you get stuck.”

“We always will,” Castor finished, and the warm promise in his voice made Ryoma feel better. Safer.

“I always liked the one about Perchta and the twelve days of solstice,” Fuji offered with a quick grin.

Ryoma wrinkled his nose. “What? No. That one’s too creepy. Actually why are all the solstice stories so creepy anyway? I really hate the one where she comes to...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we fade out on the very first ~~Christmas~~ winter solstice celebration for Fuji-Ryoma-Castor household. West Hyrrha is part of Brinwold, which accepted the Cetera culture much earlier than Ketys, but some of their old traditions linger, one of which is the winter solstice celebration. (The Cetera celebrate equinoxes, particularly the summer equinox, but not solstices.) Lastly, Fuji and Ryoma are drinking a version of posset, which may or may not have been a precursor of eggnog. :P
> 
> This was supposed to be Ryoma’s birthday fic, but it didn’t quite work out in time. :( Sorry, Ryoma. Merry Christmas anyway, everyone! Thank you so much for reading and following Et Cetera. ♥


	23. Fuji Birthday Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ Happy not-birthday, Fuji! XD ♥ ♥ 
> 
> I was hoping to release Et Cetera Chapter 5 for Fuji's birthday this year. It would have been quite appropriate, but...life happened. Mostly in the form of illnesses. Multiple times. And I'm still in the process of figuring out how to make Et Cetera work as a whole. Which has been a very, very slow going.
> 
> But I didn't want to miss Fuji's birthday entirely. I've always tried to write or post something on the day since 2006, so... I'm posting a short preview and a few announcements instead. I may remove this update after Chapter 5 is properly posted. Er, no guarantee this section will remain as-is, though. Sorry.
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you'll enjoy this short preview!

**_Et Cetera_ **

**Chapter 5 Preview**

[Written July 2006 :: February 28, 2015 Version]

Silence reigned supreme.

Ryoma mentally counted his heartbeat, one by one, all the way to ten in blissful quiet, and let out a sigh of relief. Carefully, he tiptoed across the room and opened the door. The door hinges squeaked, and Ryoma froze, holding his breath. After five more heartbeats in total silence, he eased the door open rest of the way.

Just before he stepped over the threshold a wailing cry rang out, and Ryoma stopped short with a curse.

“Kiddo, are you taking good care of your little brother there?” Kikimaru laughingly called from the room across the hallway. The door was open, and it would have taken Kikumaru mere seconds to come take care of the squalling brat. But Kikumaru didn’t even look up from the scroll he was scribbling on, because the half-Sprite was evil and full of cruelty.

Ryoma scowled. “He is not my brother.” Kikumaru only laughed, and Ryoma’s scowl deepened, heading back to the crib with a sour look. “Can’t you do something about him?” Ryoma demanded, awkwardly picking up the baby and rocking him.

Kikumaru hummed in badly feigned sympathy. “Would love to swap with you, kiddo, but you know nothing about herbs. So you get the baby duties.” He waved his quill in the air, forestalling any other protests Ryoma might have had. “Before you ask, Ono is on an errand. Now keep your baby brother company, okay? Properly.”

“ _He’s not my brother_ ,” Ryoma repeated with more vehemence, but Kikumaru was humming an annoyingly cheerful tune and didn’t even answer.

Life was just not fair. And Fuji was going to get it when he came back from wherever he and Oishi hared off to, leaving him alone with Kikumaru, Ono, and the baby Kaoru. He hadn’t caught the details, but Fuji had looked serious as he rarely did while he and Oishi talked. Just from their attitude, Ryoma understood this was something important, whatever it was. And Fuji never acted without reason. But he could not help feeling resentful that he was being kept in the dark and left behind like – well, like a child.

A child who was helpless. And useless. At the very least Fuji could have let him help, instead of dismissing him out of hand. Fuji could have trusted him that much.

Unconsciously, Ryoma held the baby closer, unmindful of Kaoru grabbing at his shirt collar and tugging on it with a gurgle. A tiny hand touched his cheek, and Ryoma blinked, remembering he was still holding the baby. Kaoru looked up at him with an expression that was entirely too serious for an infant, and Ryoma blinked again. Just then Kaoru’s small hand reached up to grab his nose with a grave concentration, and squeezed. Ryoma sputtered, and instantly, Kaoru let out a pleased squeal. Ryoma tossed his head, putting his nose safely out of Kaoru’s reach, his lips curling in a reluctant smile.

Although he would never admit it out loud, Kaoru was a cute baby. It wasn’t so bad being around him, Ryoma supposed. More interesting than the endless sorting and recording of medicinal herbs, at least. But he was still saving the dirty diapers for Kikumaru, because one had to draw the line somewhere, thank you very much. 

Kaoru gurgled happily, grabbing onto Ryoma’s proffered finger.

Ryoma smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have a couple announcements.
> 
> **1\. I need cover art for _Et Cetera_.** When I finish, I plan to order printed copies of **_Et Cetera_**. I've used CreateSpace to make first-draft print copies of _**RE:Play**_ and _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ and they've been pretty awesome. But this means I really need cover art. Front and back cover, to be precise. If you have a fanart or official art manipulation or some art that you feel would be appropriate for **_Et Cetera_** , please leave a comment or message! Just, um, make sure you have the rights to the artwork and don't mind me using it?
> 
> **2. _Et Cetera_ timeline will be revised.** I'd hinted about this plenty of times already, anyway. ^^; Mainly, War of Adamant will be set 2,000 years ago from the "present" (main storyline), not 5,000 years. Please note that this doesn't significantly alter the main story or the backstories, except for Castor's (whose age has been cut from 5,000 years old to 2,000 years old). I haven't started fixing the posted parts yet, but I will soon.
> 
> In the interest of time, and getting things back on track, I think I may have to skip ahead to Chapter 5 for the next Cetera update, and leave An's backstory until after. We'll see.
> 
> Thank you for reading Cetera. ♥ ♥ ♥ I owe a huge thanks to those of you who read Cetera and tell me you like it. It's all thanks to you that I don't give up trying to make Cetera work. :)


	24. Fade to Black, One: Tachibana An

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long delay. A lot of things happened this year, including two deaths in the family, and other things that led to high stress, low energy, and no time – never a good combination for writing or editing. I think, however, _**Et Cetera**_ past history finally got the long-needed work-up, and that means now all my revisions will have one consistent past to work with.
> 
> Working on a long story for over a decade is kind of like working on an old building that was never finished. As you continue to work on it, you realize there were structural fallacies you didn’t even understand when you started out, and one more addition could topple the whole thing – or save your behind. XD I knew An’s piece would be hard. An’s piece required the aforementioned past to be worked out, if not fully, then at least enough for me to build from. And here I was, having major issues with character(s) motivations. As usual. Just like with Kikumaru piece (“Walls”), An’s piece was painful to write, but – hopefully – worth the pain in the end. And just like Kikumaru, An of today is different from An of ten years ago, but I think, perhaps, she is better for that.
> 
> An’s backstory starts five years before the Pyris incident (the same incident where Ryoma met Fuji for the first time) and ends 4-5 years before the starting point of the Et Cetera main story. I hope you will all enjoy!

**Et Cetera: Fade to Black**

_One. Tachibana An_

[Re-written 2015-11-18 to 23 :: 2015-12-21 Version]

In Ketys, Princess An’s roses were famous throughout the kingdom. Garden enthusiasts lavished praise for their beauty and exceptional fragrance. For her part, An had seen better, roses so beautiful and sweet that one had to see and smell to believe. But those now bloomed only in her memories, tinged in sweet pink, pure white at the center with red blossoming over the edges.

**********

An was nine when she visited Pyris for the first time. She’d been begging her parents for a visit for months beforehand. Pyris, the independent port city, was a city of wonder. It was a well-known fact that Pyris was unusually close to the Cetera, with a Cetera Mage always under contract, and retained a direct link to the Cetera and all their Magic. And Pyris’s wealth and beauty and technology and ideas unheard of in the rest of the region added to its splendor in mythical proportions.

Because of the Cetera influence, Pyris also had ways that were strange, like elected officials and schools that admitted women. But ah, the rest! City-wide chains of public libraries, baths and hospitals. A legendary plumbing and sewer system. Even a university and a museum maintained by university scholars. The Cetera polished this beautiful city like a jewel, like a torch to light the rest of the civilized world.

And it was in the harbor of this city that An met Sakuno. Pyris was a neutral city, and both Brinwold and Ketys traded there despite their fierce rivalry, with Pyris acting as a buffer zone. As a major trading post, Pyris’s harbor had a complicated network of piers that served to dock the ships that came to trade. Its population having far outstripped the amount of food produced by what meager land holdings it retained outside its walls, over half of what Pyris needed for food was imported from Brinwold and Ketys. An had slipped away by herself to wander through the piers, marveling at the ships and the goods they carried, but being a first-time visitor, she had gotten lost. Luckily for her, Sakuno was also there and had noticed her plight. Sakuno was a year younger than An, but she was a longtime resident, her mother a city native born and bred. Once they’d introduced themselves, Sakuno shyly took An by the hand and led her through the winding maze of piers back to the city streets, then to her parents’ beautiful house. By the time they reached Sakuno’s garden, they were chatting comfortably like old friends. Sakuno’s face was flushed with the same color as the sweet roses she grew in her garden, pale pink blending into the cream of her skin, framed by glimmering strands of soft chestnut brown hair. And so the most vivid memory of An’s first visit to Pyris was not of the city’s many wonders, but that of a garden, with the most fragrant roses she’d ever seen, and a beautiful little girl surrounded by flowers, smiling like a rosebud about to open.

**********

Over the next few years An visited Pyris as often as she was permitted, which was never as much as she would have liked. Sakuno’s father was a wealthy merchant who owned one of the largest supply chains from Moltania to Pyris. Sakuno’s mother, born and raised in Pyris, had a weak heart, a predilection she passed on to her only daughter, and did not dare leave the city which boasted the best medical facilities for a thousand leagues in every direction. Besides, Sakuno confided to An, her mother wanted Sakuno to attend the city’s university, like she had. Pyris’s university admitted a handful of exceptional young women, and Sakuno’s mother had been one of those illustrious alumnae. When Sakuno told An about the university, she spoke of both hopes to follow her mother’s footsteps and fears she would not be good enough. Having been raised in Ketys, which had strictly differentiated curriculums for boys and girls, Sakuno’s stories of the university filled An with wonder and longing. The university was one of their favorite topics to discuss.

By the time An was fourteen, she and Sakuno were the best of friends. Nonetheless, it took An weeks of wheedling and pleading to obtain her parents’ permission to visit Pyris for two weeks by herself, to celebrate Sakuno’s fourteenth birthday. Sakuno’s parents put together a lavish celebration, but the crowning moment of An’s visit was when Sakuno showed her a special corner in her garden where a new cultivar of roses grew in An’s honor, vivid scarlet roses with luscious curling petals and heavenly perfume. Sakuno flushed with pleasure when An, speechless with awe, threw her arms around Sakuno and squeezed tight. Though later, Sakuno confessed she’d appealed to her grandmother for expert tips on developing a new cultivar.

“She’s a Mage,” Sakuno confided. “Mama says Human Mages are really rare. We Humans don’t have the gift of Magic that the Gods blessed the Cetera with. And grandma – well, I call her grandma, but she’s actually more like great-great-grandaunt. She’s very special. But she’s a lot like our Mage in the city: when people have a difficult problem, they go to her for help. She was planning to come to my birthday party, but something big happened and she couldn’t make it.”

“Does she live in Moltania?” An asked, curious. She’d read about Human Mages before, but had never met one in reality.

“No. She lives in a little village called Caesis, in West Hyrrha. I heard it’s where papa’s family comes from. Some of our extended family still lives there, although papa moved to Moltania with grandpa when he was small.”

“Have you ever been there?”

Sakuno looked glum. “No. Mama doesn’t want me to overexert myself. I’ve hardly even seen the countryside right outside the city walls. So I used to sneak out and explore the city instead.”

“I always wondered how you knew your way around so well,” An murmured, and was pleased to see a smile and a faint blush. But a moment later, a crease appeared on Sakuno’s forehead, forming a worried frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want to talk about it while you’re visiting,” Sakuno said, and hesitated. “But...papa wants us to move to Moltania. He says there are signs of trouble all over, and soon it won’t be safe to stay in Pyris. Mama doesn’t want to, obviously.” Then, she added bashfully, “I don’t, either.”

Pyris was far enough from Irodea, but Moltania was much farther still. “Why won’t it be safe?” After all, Pyris was protected by a Cetera Mage who had a formal contract with the city. And more importantly, Pyris had the friendship of the Cetera, everyone knew that. Surely, if Pyris was truly in danger, the Cetera would send help.

Sakuno shook her head. “I don’t know. I only overheard mama and papa talking. Papa said something about Ketys and Brinwold having some kind of border dispute. And that if they can’t reach an agreement, Pyris is going to end up right in the middle of that.”

“Ketys won’t go to war,” An said confidently. It was true that Pyris, being a small independent city-state, did not have a standing army large enough to defend itself if Ketys and Brinwold waged war against one another. But the Cetera had maintained their friendship with the city for centuries – usually a deterrent enough for any of its overly ambitious neighbors. “Besides, if Pyris was in trouble, the Cetera would come help.”

Sakuno smiled at her. “You’re right, An. We have our Mage. He won’t let anything happen to our city.”

What An didn’t know at the time was that a Cetera could be killed just as easily as a Human. That two of the previous Mages of Pyris, fearful for their own safety, had resigned in short order, and another one before that had been killed during a minor conflict. That sometimes, the Cetera simply didn’t care enough to stand by its supposed allies, not even their own people. An was a child then, and what she did not know couldn’t trouble her, so she’d left a smiling Sakuno waving from Pyris’s gates, solemnly promising to come to An’s fifteenth birthday – a coming of age for Ketys girls, for which a celebration of especial grandeur was being already planned. Sakuno’s smile was like the gentle spring sun shining over her prized rose garden, and the idea never occurred to An that anything could snuff out something so sweet and innocent any more than she could have imagined the sun suddenly dropping out of the sky.

How little she knew.

**********

Two months after the girls parted, Ketys and Brinwold’s perpetually shaky diplomatic relationship degenerated to a disagreement, then a border skirmish, then finally to a mutual declaration of war with Pyris caught in between. An waited anxiously for any news of Sakuno, hoping against hope that Sakuno’s father had evacuated his family to Moltania despite the objections from his wife and daughter. The news did come, eventually, a month before An’s birthday celebration was to be held. A letter from Sakuno’s father, informing her that...that...

The letter dropped from An’s nerveless hand.

Sakuno. The gentle, shy Sakuno, who made her garden blossom with roses so fragrant An could feel them in her sleep, as if she too possessed some of her grandmother’s Magic. The kindest and sweetest soul An had ever known was reduced to just a number on a parchment. One of the scores left dead after the death of Pyris’s Mage, which left the city defenseless in the ensuing chaos.

Sakuno had been outside the city walls during a brief cease-fire with her mother, helping to distribute food to the refugees, her father wrote. Temporary shelters were erected after the city closed its gates to any more refugees, placed as close to the city as possible to afford them what scant protection the city might still have. All around them, the villages in the suburbs just outside the city had been turned into emergency shelters. So the city’s well-to-do citizens had organized a civilian response team to feed and clothe those who were there. And for a while, both Ketys and Brinwold forces had left them alone. Until something happened during one cease-fire, Sakuno’s father wrote with a hand shaky with grief, which ignited a fight that left the Cetera Mage dead. Sakuno and her mother were among those caught outside the city walls. And then, both Ketys and Brinwold forces entered the emergency shelters and the confusion continued for days with no help from anywhere. 

The Cetera never lifted a finger, entirely absent save for a polite expression of condolences delivered via the newly contracted successor to the deceased Mage of Pyris, two weeks after Ketys and Brinwold reached an uneasy truce. There was an unconfirmed rumor that a lone Mage appeared to help with the rescue effort, though he left without ever giving his name or confirming any affiliation with the Cetera. But by that time, Sakuno and her mother were already killed.

An was not yet fifteen, still counted a child by her people. Nonetheless, she understood nothing in the world could bring back what was lost to her forever. Could never make up for _Sakuno_ , all that was good and kind and innocent in her, all the dreams of what she could have been. Because the Cetera had failed her like they failed everyone else. Because the Cetera would preach an ideal, but would never defend it.

In a quiet corner of the royal palace in Irodea, there was a guest room that was prepared with utmost care but never used. On its softly-lit wall hung a small portrait, and a beautifully carved table underneath where An kept a lovely vase full of fresh flowers. Red roses for remembrance, white roses for innocence, pink roses for devotion. In honor of a memory, or perhaps a lamentation for what was lost. Always a reminder, that whatever was precious to her, she must learn to protect it herself. And for that, she would grow into her own.

For she was Tachibana An, Princess of Ketys, the only sister of Prince Kippei, the heir to the throne of Ketys. Her brother would be the next king; she, his sister and heir until he married. And she would be no kept doll, she vowed. No genteel lady at her embroidery and harp. Her efforts would not be wasted to grieve, but to fight. She would change things, side by side with her brother, not hidden behind curtains of modesty.

She, Tachibana An, would become a _true_ Princess of Ketys.


	25. Fade to Black, Two: Princess of Ketys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the previous part –An’s backstory is in three parts, sequenced chronologically, with 2,110 words in the first part and 3,694 words in the second part. (Third part will be around 2,600 words, give or take.) It’s taken together that they span approximately 10 years from 5 years before the Pyris incident, to 4-5 years before the main story starts. Sorry for any confusion I caused.

**Et Cetera: Fade to Black**

_Two. Princess of Ketys_

[Written 11.23 to 28, 2015 :: 12.23.2015 Version]

On her fifteenth birthday, Princess An shocked the entire court by appearing at her coming-of-age celebration with her lovely chestnut brown hair cut short, the sheared ends scarcely brushing her chin. Expression of grief, whispered the more knowing amongst the gathered nobility, noting the dark navy gown she wore, a deviation from the bright rose or saffron or buttercup customary for such occasion. It was well known that the princess’s best friend was from Pyris, and among those who died during the recent war which had just come to a close. But the princess kept her head defiantly high, and her gaze was a steady flame. Even with her hair shorn and her gown much too somber for a festive event, the princess was beautiful. Heads turned as she passed, but much to the disappointment of all the young men present, she danced only with her brother.

Her mother the queen, stunning in her pale lavender gown as delicate as a butterfly, only pressed her mouth in a thin line and did not say a word.

Starting the very next day, much to the royal tutors’ consternation, Princess An joined her brother for his lessons in statecraft and swordsmanship.

**********

In Ketys, common-born young men and women apprenticed for a particular trade as soon as they turned thirteen. For men, apprenticeship could last anywhere from three years to thirteen years, and at the end of it, they were expected to have mastered the chosen profession, and join the workforce as adults. For most women, the range of the trade was limited, being mostly domestic services in nature, though some of the more enterprising souls worked in shops in hopes of attracting a successful merchant’s interest.

Noble-born young men studied and trained for a life in the court or the military. However, Ketys was under a strict primogeniture, and lesser gentry preferred to have their younger sons enter apprenticeships in respectable businesses, so that they could fend for themselves in the future. Since Ketys laws maintained agnatic inheritance, women didn’t expect to inherit, so young noble-born women learned the feminine arts like music, dancing and embroidery, and waited while their parents fretted over dowries and vied for desirable matches.

Princess An did not have the patience for embroidery and didn’t care much for musical instruments. To her poetry was boring and etiquette lessons were repetitive. She preferred learning how to run a keep, although it was considered a mere formality; as the only daughter of the king, she was not expected to marry so below her station as to manage her future husband’s property herself. She loved much better dancing and horseback riding by far. On horseback she could perform jumps nearly as high as her brother’s, and could match the prince in both speed and skill.

Once she started learning statecraft and natural sciences, history, mathematics, laws – she excelled in those as well. The royal tutors were displeased by her continued attendance, but the prince insisted that they allow her to sit in during his lessons with embroidery projects in her lap that she never touched. Besides, the king was indulgent and would deny her nothing. So she learned, side by side with her brother, how a kingdom was run from top down, from the king to the nobles to the common-born and indentured servants. How agriculture worked in conjunction with commerce, domestic and international. How to balance the military and the court, the Council of War and Council of Peace, the temples and international relations. How to govern the finances, the laws, the people.

Throughout it all, her mother the queen was unhappily silent. She merely insisted that the princess continue her lessons in courtly etiquettes and literature as well, which An attended grudgingly before fleeing to join her brother in swordsmanship lessons.

Princess An’s skill with a sword grew quickly, although the prince had to order a thinner and shorter blade for her personal use. The prince’s chosen companions, unconventional though it was for the crown prince to associate so closely with sons of lesser nobles, were of a like mind, and did not scorn being her practice partners. But the prince was popular, and his eccentricities, even his open adulation for his only sister, were largely overlooked. If the court whispered that his sister was not very princess-like, nothing like a dutiful, obedient young lady she should be, both siblings ignored it. Their father the king adored his children and doted on them, and hardly criticized them anyway. Besides, even the royal tutors admitted, if with ill grace, that the princess was a model pupil in every way.

In hindsight, the princess should have remembered her mother played a long game.

**********

When the queen summoned her to a private audience, Princess An thought it would be one of the usual lectures. Therefore, the queen’s choice of location was surprising: the solarium, which had a great deal of traffic at this time of the day.

“How are your lessons progressing?” the queen asked once they dispensed with the usual pleasantries.

“Very well, thank you,” An replied, wary. Her mother knew quite well exactly how her lessons were going. And there were ears listening. Members of the royal court were coming in and out, some of them casting curious looks at the princess and the queen, others trying and failing to listen in unobtrusively.

“Lady Reika tells me she has some concerns.”

Lady Reika of the Shigino family, which ruled the second largest archduchy within Ketys, was An’s court etiquettes instructor. And not coincidentally, one of the closest companions to the queen.

“That being?” An demanded, belatedly remembering she was addressing the queen after the sharp words left her mouth. Her mother did not even blink.

“You don’t spend any time with the young ladies of the court,” the queen said gently. “They have been patient and respectful until now, and for a good reason. But you are the princess. You cannot spurn their company forever.”

Yes, she could. An bit down on the words rising to her throat. Spend more time with the ladies? With their embroidery and endless concerns about propriety and gowns and gossips? She’d rather face the rack. But she was a princess, and knew what her mother was likely concerned about the most: not her lack of feminine company, but the overabundance of masculine company. “I have always been properly chaperoned,” An pointed out, her tone more respectful this time.

“So your brother has assured me,” the queens said mildly, and An tried not to bristle. Of course her mother checked with her brother before coming to her.

“If you just asked me directly,” An said, holding back her temper, “rather than going to my brother behind my back, I would have answered any questions you might have.”

The queen shook her head slowly. The movement rustled the collar of her gown, translucent silk gathered at her throat like a butterfly’s wings unfurling. “Temper, my darling.”

The disapproval was so...so... _ladylike_. So dainty. An gritted her teeth in a flare of irritation. “I’m not you,” she said, as quietly as she could, mindful of their not-so-secret eavesdroppers. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you—”

“My queen, my princess, what a pleasant surprise.”

In no discernible hurry, the queen turned to graciously nod at the newcomer. The Lady Mariko. Another one of her mother’s particular friends. “Lady Mariko,” the queen acknowledged with a smile. “It’s such a lovely day, I decided An and I must simply come visit the solarium.”

“What a lovely thought! May I join you?” Lady Mariko exclaimed, smiling sweetly, looking utterly oblivious to those who watched them surreptitiously. “Or perhaps, my queen, would you prefer to stop for some refreshments first?”

The words were so innocently considerate and polite. Relieved, An was about to excuse herself, but Lady Mariko turned her gaze to An, and the gleam of warning in her eyes stopped her.

The queen smiled, a flash of her pearl-like teeth behind the rosy lips, beautiful and perfect as ever. “Thank you kindly, Lady Mariko. I think we shall.”

An held back a grimace, but had no choice but to follow her mother. Once they were inside one of the queen’s private chambers and the serving maiden dismissed with instruction to bring refreshments, Lady Mariko turned to regard them with a slight raise of an eyebrow. “How unexpected of you, my queen, to visit the solarium during its busiest time of the day,” she said, and there was a hint of irony lurking underneath her voice.

The queen merely gave her an inscrutable smile. “A mere whim of mine, really. May I trouble you, Lady Mariko, to ask the kitchen to send some honey cakes along with the tea? Those are An’s favorite, and I’m afraid it quite slipped my mind to tell the maid.”

Lady Mariko regarded the queen for a moment, then curtsied gracefully. “Of course, your Highness.”

As soon as they were alone, An turned to her mother. “May I be—”

“Sit down, An,” her mother said in a tone that was calm yet brooked no argument. Startled, An sat on the nearest divan without a protest. “You are still young. But not so young that you can be blind to your surroundings, or what your position means.” Her mother looked unexpectedly stern, nothing like the gentle, ladylike queen An was accustomed to seeing. “You are the princess. And you are the princess at all times, no matter when or where. You noticed where I asked to see you. But do you understand why?”

Surprise kept her honest. “No.”

“I wanted to see what you would do. The moment you realized our discussion would become one better held in privacy, you had several choices. You chose to remain where we were, to proceed exactly in the same way.”

“You meant for the Lady Mariko come and interrupt us,” An said, both a realization and an accusation. What subtle cues had she missed? She had seen no signal, not even the slightest gesture pass between her mother and Lady Mariko. Or perhaps Lady Mariko and her mother knew each other so well that they didn’t have to communicate to divine when an intervention would be welcomed. 

“Yes. And a similar option might have been open to you if you had chosen to cultivate the company of young ladies who were also in the solarium. Instead, you’ve spurned them.”

Certainly, it would be something to have allies like that, but... An thought of the young women in question who had been present, and couldn’t help a sliver of distaste. “I have nothing in common with them.”

Her mother actually looked at her with open exasperation. “Oh, child. You are the princess. If you cannot accommodate a little difference of opinions from everyone around you, a poor one you would be indeed!” The queen sighed. “If you were simply a lady, your personal likes and dislikes may be tolerated, even expressed, in the right place and time. You are not, and you cannot afford them. If you are truly a princess worthy of that title, then you must find a way to navigate any troubled water. If you are the first to walk away, then you are the first to cede the ground. And you’ve walked away from all of the ladies of your age group without ever trying to find a common ground with them.”

“None of them would see—”

“Oh, An,” her mother interrupted, gentle but firm. “My brave princess. You still have much to learn if you didn’t see how intently the young Lady Masako was watching, to see how you would react to my criticism, and how you might persuade me to listen. You are lucky. Your father adores you, your brother will suffer no hindrance to your will, no matter how capricious. But most others in your age group are not so lucky as you. If you cannot sway even the gentlest of your dissenters to your side, then with what hope should any of the young ladies support you? You have isolated yourself, thinking you are alone in your views. Have you even tried to see if anyone else feels the same? Or do you truly think you are the first and only young woman to rebel against the centuries of obedience and duty laid upon all of our gender?”

Stunned, An stared at her usually reserved, soft-spoken mother. “I thought you disapproved,” she said faintly.

“I do, but not for the reasons you think.”

There was a long silence. “Lady Mariko?” An queried, conscious that they had been talking for a while, and that they might be interrupted soon. Her mother shook her head.

“She won’t come back for a while. We understand each other well, she and I.” There was a hint of satisfaction in her mother’s voice. “Any friend who comes to you only because of your position is not a true friend. You are intelligent enough to realize this. However, I _do_ have friends, allies I have created and kept for myself. That is what disappointed me, my daughter. You are brave. You are willing to challenge the rules. But you are not willing to put any effort into cultivating your own set of allies who will stand with you. Alone, you will never succeed. No one ever does. Any victory you enjoy in your lifetime will be a short-lived one, a hollow one, and will not result in any real change. No. You are the princess, and you must see further than your own lifetime.”

“You’d...like me to have my own circle of friends who will join me?” It was unthinkable. No one in her age group had expressed even the remotest desire to be anything but what their positions demanded. Exactly that, An realized with shock – not expressing a desire and not feeling it were not the same thing.

Her mother nodded to her. “Our culture doesn’t encourage our women to speak their mind. And some may be genuinely content to conform to tradition. Those who rebel must do so with more wisdom. But you are the princess, and you must be able to lead all kinds of people.”

An thought about the way her mother was respected by everyone, whether they belonged to the highest echelon of the nobility, or the lower fringe, no matter how conservative or liberal their views. Even the common-born folks loved their queen who was renowned for her charitable work. An had always thought her mother’s work to be too ladylike, too feminine, but even she couldn’t deny that her mother was queen in every sense, while she had, even not entirely by intention, isolated herself. When the two of them had a semi-public confrontation today, her mother had proven she had allies who would offer her succor. An had none.

“What if they don’t... What if we never see eye to eye? I don’t think the ladies my age really like the things I do, and...” An trailed off, embarrassed by the gentle amusement in her mother’s gaze.

“You assume two people must understand each other perfectly to be friends. Was that truly the case with you and Sakuno?”

It was the first time someone had mentioned Sakuno’s name to her face, and An couldn’t help a flinch. But her mother spoke the truth she couldn’t deny: Sakuno was shy where An was outgoing. Sakuno had been interested in baking and making lace and gardening. Kippei had more interest in cooking than An did, and An had no patience for any sort of needlework, far less something as delicate and complex as a lace. Gardening An had taken up simply because she picked up the interest from Sakuno. Probably, Sakuno wouldn’t have enjoyed swordsmanship or horseback riding. Sakuno _would_ have enjoyed dancing, An was sure, but maybe not the statecraft that even her brother’s companions hated. Yet they had adored each other despite their differences, or perhaps because of them.

“No one will ever be Sakuno.” An sighed, feeling sad. That, too, was true. She was certain, especially now, more than two years after the incident at Pyris. No one could replace Sakuno in her heart.

“No,” her mother said gently. “But you can’t spend your entire life alone in memory of only one person. Surely, An, even Sakuno wouldn’t wish it? I’m sure she always wished for your happiness, just as you’ve wished for hers.”

Usually, any memory of Sakuno was accompanied by sorrow and rage. Today, in her mother’s presence, she felt the sorrow and regret, but not the crushing rage. “No, she wouldn’t want me to be alone,” An admitted reluctantly. “She was always so gentle, always so quick to put someone else before her.”

The queen nodded. “Other young ladies do understand you were grieving. It’s part of the reason they haven’t taken as much umbrage as they could have at your behavior. However, there is more to being a princess than simply excelling in every lesson you take. Even more importantly, you must be able to lead. And leadership has less to do with academics than skillful management of people. Your brother may surround himself with companions that highborn nobles object to, but he has found his own way around that, hasn’t he? If needed, he could work with the highborn just as easily.”

That too was true. Kippei preferred the company of lower-born nobles whose future was likely limited to the military, but her brother possessed enough natural charisma and wit that even highborn youths remained in awe of him.

It helped Kippei had quite a reputation as a warrior. A few of Kippei’s jousting opponent had been seriously though not critically injured. And Kippei had a frightening temper despite his usually gentle nature. Everyone around Kippei tended to treat him with a sort of wary respect, like how animals would defer to a lion in their midst, with bone-deep awareness that the magnificent beast, regal and tame though he seemed, could turn violent and deadly at any moment.

But she was not her brother. Therein lay her problem.

“How can I make them accept me as I am?” It was the first serious question she’d asked her mother since Pyris. “I can’t change who I am. I will never be a lady like you.”

The queen laughed softly, the sound like the chimes of a silver bell. “You _are_ a lady. You just prefer a sword to a needle, a saddle to a velvet cushion. I do advise you to learn just enough of the needlework and courtly conversation skill so you can stay in any company and not feel out of place. But I certainly do not plan to forbid you from swordsmanship or horseback riding. And if you haven’t realized it yet, neither does your father. Where the rest of the court is concerned, you must find your own way.” A sly smile curled her mother’s delicate lips. “Believe me, once you learn how to turn the court to your own purpose, doing the same with your future husband will seem like a walk in the garden in comparison.”

Her mother had been but one of many candidates, An had heard it said, who were considered for her father’s bride. She hailed from the archduchy of Narreis, one of the five greatest fiefdom within the kingdom. An had visited the city of Armeda, the seat of archduchy and her mother’s birthplace, and had marveled at its gigantic castle and the palatial keep which housed a court to rival even the royal court itself. Small wonder her mother was chosen. Her mother had been born and bred her whole life for the role she now played.

“I don’t want to marry,” An said in a small voice. “At least not... Not yet.”

The queen smiled at her gently. “If your father and I intended to force the issue, my darling daughter, we would have you betrothed already. Do you know how many proposals were offered since you were a small child?”

“And Brinwold’s current heir apparent is a princess, not a prince,” An added smoothly. She _had_ paid attention in all her statecraft lessons.

Rather than being offended by her cheek, the queen looked amused. “I thought you were rather well suited to rule. Perhaps even more so than your brother. Your father and I always felt it a pity that you were the second-born.”

“I’m a daughter, second-born or not.” An was startled to note her mother’s smile only grew. “But... Mother, there hasn’t ever been a ruling queen in Ketys.”

Her mother nodded, but remained unfazed. “Times change, darling. After all, since the Act of Succession fifty-two years ago, royal females are no longer excluded from succession. When your brother ascends to the throne, if you are yet unmarried, then you remain his heir.”

An’s mouth dropped open silently.

“Needless to say, all we’ve said today in this room must stay that way,” her mother added primly. “Honestly, An. Do you really think your father and I haven’t gone through your age? Though I will grant, you and Kippei are more forward-thinking than most people your age.”

“And we apparently have you to thank for that,” An said, a little choked.

Her mother chuckled. “Appearances can be deceiving. Don’t forget, darling. You would do well never to underestimate any of the ladies I’ve chosen for my company. I hope in the future, the same can be said of yours.”

A reminder, gentle as it was. An nodded. “I will do my best.”

“I know you will. And An?”

“Yes, mother?”

“Learn to control your temper a little better, won’t you? Especially when we’re in public?”

An sighed. She supposed she deserved that one. “Sorry, mother.”

“Not at all, darling.” A knock sounded, so suspiciously well-timed, An glanced at her mother, who merely smiled at her mysteriously. “That will be Lady Mariko returning with our refreshment.”

An rose and inclined her head as graciously as she could. “I will get the door.”

Her mother’s answering smile was warm and affectionate and playful. “Thank you, An.”


	26. Fade to Black, Three: Daughter of Fudomine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part for An’s backstory, 2,646 words. This will be last update for this year, sorry. :) Too many projects to figure out. So to all, a Happy New Year!!
> 
> An’s backstory is necessary to understand why Ketys reacts the way it does in the later chapters. But I was a bit stumped what to DO with her, until I remembered something: if someone is awesome, usually, they come from fairly awesome stock. I think all people has growing pains regarding their parents, no matter what their actual relationships are like. And no relationship is ever perfect, but at the same time – I do feel, as I’m growing older, that I owe much more to my parents than I’d ever really appreciated.
> 
> Also, as a friend once said after watching Disney’s _**Brave (2012)**_ , there are plenty of stories about daddy issues, but not mommy issues. So here’s An’s backstory, in honor of mommy issues. ;)

**Et Cetera: Fade to Black**

_Three. Daughter of Fudomine_

_A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth  
Mise ri d' thaobh, O mhaighdean bhàn   
Ar rìbhinn òg, fàs a's faic   
Do thìr, dìleas féin   
A ghrian a's a ghealach, stiùir sinn   
Gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir   
Naoidhean bhig, ar rìbhinn òg   
Mhaighdean uasal bhàn _

\-- “A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal,” from Disney’s _**Brave (2012)**_

[Written 11.28.2015 :: 12.30.2015 Version]

“Mother.”

“Yes, darling?”

An sighed, tugging at her sleeves. “Why all this?” she asked, gesturing to the pair of wicker baskets filled with rolls of bread.

Her mother gave her a speaking look.

“I’ve done all you’ve asked and more,” An said calmly, older now and experienced enough to firmly keep defensiveness out of her tone. “I just don’t see the point of this. The actual distribution of the food to the poor will be done by wagons. Why do we need to make a show of this? It seems...well, it feels staged.”

“In a way it is,” her mother admitted. “But it’s important to build a good rapport with your people. And you’re right to say the food _will_ be distributed whether or not we go personally. But our presence is a reminder.” The queen fastened her cloak with a simple pin, and picked up one of the baskets. “I know you remember your history, darling. When did the tradition begin, of royal women giving away food and alms to the poor?”

“With the Princess Sanae, sister to King Sousuke, first of the Tachibana family to rule Ketys,” An answered promptly. It was a famous story, retold and reenacted every winter solstice, when the custom supposedly began. “Princess Sanae wanted to ease the suffering of her people after a bad harvest, so she went from street to street, distributing bread to the poor.”

“You remember that the Tachibana family is the second dynasty to rule Ketys, yes?” At An’s nod, her mother continued. “In the oral legends, it was Princess Sanae who started the custom. In reality, she started it as _Lady_ Sanae, sister to _Lord_ Sousuke, several years before her brother was crowned king.”

“I remember.”

“Then it would behoove you to remember, darling, that Lord Sousuke was hardly the only contender for the throne after the last king of the Hikari line died without an heir. A great part of his eventual ascent can be attributed to the sheer popularity his family enjoyed among the common-born. Lady Sanae above all.”

“The Daughter of Fudomine,” An finished, recalling Princess Sanae’s eternal epithet. Fudomine – which meant ‘immovable peak’ – was an ancient name for their people. Oretis, East Oretis, and the Great Simean Delta beyond the River Mertis – before they were a kingdom, they had been a people first, bound by the same language, faith and traditions. And so before they were united under the single crown of Ketys, they called themselves the Fudomine after the Seven Mountains and their imposing peaks.

“Fudomine. People of the Immovable Summits,” her mother added. “A reference to the Seven Mountains which have been sacred to our people since the antiquities. All of our people look to the Seven Mountains as the heart of our kingdom, and that is why Irodea, encircled by these sacred mountains, has always remained our capital. And Lady Sanae, born and raised in Irodea, was called the Daughter of Fudomine. One can even say her brother owes half of his throne to her popularity. What’s more, he never forgot it, either.”

Told like that, Lady Sanae’s charity did seem an awful lot like a deliberate ploy to garner the people’s affection. A political campaign to win her brother the throne, nothing more. “So what she did was just for political reasons?”

“Maybe, maybe not. We will never know.” Her mother blithely ignored her irritated look. “History often omits private feelings or personal motivations, particularly those of women. Perhaps Lady Sanae genuinely cared about her people and her charity was exactly that, nothing more. Perhaps it was part of a carefully planned campaign to help her family rise to prominence among those competing to become the next king. Be that as it may, the Tachibana family has been popular with our people ever after, and we owe that in no small part to Lady Sanae’s famous basket of bread.”

“And the royal women have always been a respected part of the Tachibana family for their charitable works,” An said. “I still can’t help feeling a bit pretentious, carrying around this basket like the food in it belongs to me. Or that my little basket makes a difference.”

Her mother stared at her, a fleeting look of surprise on her face. “That, my daughter, is why I’ve always believed you are special,” she said softly, open warmth in her gaze. “No, do not ever forget that it is the people whose labor provides you with the food in your basket. And no, one basket does not make a real difference. Nor does a handful of wagons delivered once a year. But think of it this way: if you have a choice to give someone a loaf of bread just one day of the year, or not at all, which would you choose?”

An considered it, and sighed. “I see your point.”

“So give with a humble heart, my daughter. Maybe Lady Sanae deserved her title. Maybe she didn’t. Regardless, you should strive to earn yours through true merit.”

“It’s not enough to be popular with nobles, both high-born and low-born alike. Or have unparalleled influence through alliances in the court.” Both of which she had achieved; she had taken her mother’s advice to heart. She had even found a handful of friends who shared in secret her more progressive views. “You want me to win the heart of the people as well.”

The queen nodded. “You’re already well on your way to do that. But you need to start making more public appearances. Your people should always be able to recognize you even without the coronet of a princess or the royal banners. Your father and I, contrary to popular belief, have not planned out your future to the last detail. In the future, perhaps you will remain a princess, perhaps not. Princess Sanae remained unmarried for the rest of her life, dedicating herself to help her brother rule. That is no small thing, of course, a life spent in the service of one’s country. But if your life’s path differs from hers, as I hope it will, then even when you’re not the princess of Ketys, I want you to retain a far more important title that should belong to you always.”

_Daughter of Fudomine._

“You don’t ask small things,” An said wryly. “Just when I think I have done everything you ask, you raise the stakes.”

Her mother gave her one of her more secretive smiles. “A life is not a life worth living if you ever stop trying to improve yourself. Speaking of which, how is your needlework progressing?”

An groaned, fastening closed her own cloak and picking up the remaining basket. “Oh, mother, please. I’ve barely learned how to chain-stitch along a pre-drawn line. You know needle lace is going to be forever beyond me.”

Her mother let out a peal of laughter, and turned to lead the way. “Well,” she said in a conspiratorial murmur, “to be honest, same for me, too.”

**********

The Tachibana family had always been a beloved presence in Ketys.

Since their reign started a hundred years ago, the Tachibana family’s rule was characterized by strengthened military and increasing independence from the temples’ – and therefore the Cetera’s – influence. Before the Tachibana family took over, it was customary to give the temples a third of all yearly produce as offering to the Gods. And since the Cetera managed all temples, the Cetera had enjoyed unrestricted flow of bounty from Ketys. Since taking over, the Tachibana family, citing bad harvests and war with Brinwold that had resulted in the previous royal family’s demise, cut down the offering to a fifth of the yearly produce. Eventually, the Tachibana dynasty rerouted half of even that to establish a standing army, in the name of maintaining peace for the kingdom.

Then, after a border conflict with Brinwold that resulted in a small tragedy for Pyris which was caught in between, a scandal forced out the half dozen resident Cetera Mages who used to serve the royal court of Ketys. The Cetera’s High Council sent delegations demanding the reinstatement of the Cetera Mages to the royal court, but the royal house cited one difficulty after another, and managed to delay the process indefinitely.

The current crown prince of Ketys, Kippei of Tachibana family, was known for his remarkable prowess in arms, particularly the sword, and for his intelligence and magnetic personality. Although he had a temper, and some rough patches early in his teenage years, the prince eventually grew to a charismatic yet controlled young man, mature far beyond his years. If he had somewhat unusual penchant for choosing his closest companions from lesser gentry rather than the more fitting high-born nobility, it was overlooked in favor of his achievements. Extolled for his courage and strength and honor, his fame spread far and wide as Ketys’s pride.

Prince Kippei was equally well known for being an affectionate son, and an exceptionally doting brother. When he was gifted a magnificent black colt, whose sire and dam were both known for their astonishing speed and agility, the young prince insisted on buying its equally stunning twin, a spirited filly, as a coming-of-age gift for his sister. Among the connoisseurs both horses were considered worth their weight in gold, and speculations ran high on how much the prince paid for the unusual gift.

His sister, being a skilled equestrian herself, openly adored the filly as her favorite among all of her coming-of-age gifts. She was just as popular as her brother, despite her rather unorthodox upbringing: she learned statecraft and art of sword and horseback riding alongside her brother and his companions. The princess even joined the prince on his occasional hunts, and it was not unusual for her to return with a buck or two she brought down with her crossbow. The royal court adored her nonetheless because she was beautiful, a wonderful dancer, a skilled conversationalist, and a deft hand at racquet games which were popular at the court. The common people revered her for her charitable works, visiting the poor and the sick every month with food and alms and words of comfort. Nobles and commons alike honored her by the epithet ‘Daughter of Fudomine,’ a title which had once adorned none other than the legendary Princess Sanae of Tachibana family a hundred years ago.

Both the prince and the princess remained unmarried well beyond the usual age royal children married. But then again, suitable matches were hard to find for such extraordinary pair. For several years half-hearted negotiations took place between Ketys and Brinwold for their respective heirs apparent, but nothing came of it, particularly because Brinwold was embroiled in contention over the matter of succession for years. The king of Brinwold had no male relatives at all, forestalling any attempts to marry Princess An to Brinwold. And finding suitable consort for the king’s only daughter, the sole existing heir, presented a particularly thorny problem for Brinwold, which had no intention of risking its independence through an imprudent union. Eventually, Princess Nanako of Brinwold ascended to the throne as the ruling queen after years of deliberation, and that effectively ended all talks of marriage between the two kingdoms. There was a number of possible matches from within the kingdom of Ketys, but with every archduchy and duchy watching each other’s every move, no talk of wedding came to fruition. Besides, no one was particularly worried. The prince was only twenty three years of age, in prime of his youth, and the king was in excellent health. The prince was not expected to ascend to the throne for some years, possibly another decade or more.

Fate, however, had a habit of upsetting all mortal plans. Not long after his son celebrated his twenty fourth birthday, the king held a hunting contest for his own birthday. No one was extraordinarily surprised when the king, the prince and the princess all entered as contestants. All three of them had been avid hunters for years.

On the third day of the hunt, the king was thrown from his horse when his poor mount stepped into a rabbit hole on a full gallop across the plain. The horse went down hard with a scream – right on top of its fallen rider. The king never stirred from where he’d fallen.

The tragedy was all the more terrible for its unexpectedness. The king was well loved by both the nobles and the commons, and the incident cast another pall over the kingdom’s relations with the Cetera. For one, there were several Cetera Mages in attendance during the celebration of the king’s birthday as well as the hunt itself, a first in half a decade since their expulsion from the court over the Pyris incident. Whispers echoed loudly through corridors that the Cetera, for all their arts, did nothing to save the king. Even darker whispers were uttered, though in secret, that perhaps their presence was the very cause for the accident. Then, the Cetera Mages made it worse by not joining in the mourning for the king, citing some holy day or another in the Cetera custom which forbade it.

Antipathy toward the Cetera had been long in the building. Farmers and merchants alike resented the temples for the levy on their yearly income, and consequently the Cetera, who held complete sway over the temples. With another fifth of their income taxed by the fief’s lord, the temples’ share was a heavy burden on the rich and the poor alike. And no one had forgotten how the temples used to take a third of everything. When the current royal family instituted the standing army funded by half of the temples’ share rather than the more traditional method of raising the overall taxes, the move had won nearly unanimous support from across the land.

The Cetera never took sides in conflicts between Human kingdoms. None of the Cetera had lifted a finger to help whenever Ketys had to resort to armed conflict to assert its rights. Why, then, should the Cetera benefit from Ketys? And then after the king expelled the Cetera from his court, the first time they were allowed to return the king in question, who was in perfect health and an expert horseman besides, had a sudden and fatal accident. And as if to to add insult to injury, the Cetera would not even send their condolences until a month after fact.

Absolutely no one raised any objection when the crown prince did not invite the Cetera delegates to his coronation ceremony.

**********

When at last the newly crowned king ascended the steps to his throne, the reverent hush turned to confusion and then finally to tumult as the king held out his right hand to his sister. Of all the people present only the queen mother remained as unruffled and serene as ever.

If the princess herself was surprised she didn’t show it. Her head held proudly high, she ascended to the dais to take her brother’s hand, to stand at his right – the place belonging to the king’s chosen heir. The moment their hands met, something passed between them in their locked gaze, something fierce and determined and triumphant, passing too quickly to be noted by anyone else outside the circle of newly promoted young lieutenants, the new king’s chosen confidants.

The king took the throne then, and fixed the entire hall with a brilliant, penetrating gaze. And those gathered in the great hall felt a tremor of excitement, looking up at their king sitting like a lion on the throne, and the princess, regal as a lioness, at her brother’s right hand. They could all feel it.

A new wind was rising, sweeping through the kingdom like a gale from the Seven Mountains. And it would bring changes they dared not even dream of before.

_Vivat rex._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English translation for “A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal” (“Noble Maiden Fair”), taken from Disney Wikia
> 
> _Little baby, hear my voice  
>  I'm beside you, O maiden fair   
> Our young Lady, grow and see   
> Your land, your own faithful land   
> Sun and moon, guide us   
> To the hour of our glory and honor   
> Little baby, our young Lady   
> Noble maiden fair_


	27. Announcement No. 2,342,124

**General Announcement (And Profound Groveling. Again)**

[10.23.2017]

Okay, so what is my excuse this time?

I know there are some people who actually followed Et Cetera from the FIRST time I tried posting it. You own pieces of my soul and I am more grateful to you than mere words in any language could ever express. If you've been following this story for a while (and here, let me grovel at your feet some more), then you probably heard me moaning and whining about this before. Simply put: Et Cetera was originally finished in 2006, but as I was editing and posting, I realized the first draft didn't work. 2012, a second draft was completed. That didn't work either. Some fixes were attempted in 2015, but still didn't work completely. 2017 saw yet another attempt -- no go. This is always the problem when you try to edit a project this old, namely the older you can see the flaws the younger you didn't even know existed. But here's the bottom line: borrowed or not, these characters have to think and feel and ACT like real people would, within the constraints of their own background development in the context of Et Cetera story universe. Yes, I am my own worst critic, and I cannot forgive anything less. And I also cannot forgive myself if I were to give up. Too much of my heart and soul have gone into this story, I -- just can't.

So. I will be attempting another re-write in November, as my NaNoWriMo 2017 project.

Also, I am old enough to recognize when I need help, and very much not above begging shamelessly for it.

If you are willing, PLEASE, I am begging you, HELP ME. My email is shiraume.r at gmail dot com. (Just subtract the spaces and change words to the appropriate signs.) I'm not asking anyone to write it for me or find a solution for me. But I desperately need someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to tell me when something doesn't connect, doesn't make sense, doesn't WORK. And most of all, I need someone to give me kicks in the rear. PLEASE HELP?


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